


through the worst of nights

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Once Upon A Time, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wasn’t there a prophecy though?”<br/>“Yes.” She frowns, obviously upset. “And it’s a prophecy, not a cook book. It said I would be the one to break the curse, but didn’t give further details.”</p><p>OR the one where Clarke is the Savior, and Bellamy follows her through the wardrobe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Her nails dig into the skin of his forearms, leaving half-moon marks as she squeezes hard enough to drawn blood. Bellamy doesn’t mind, though, as he stares into her blue eyes – his stomach churns at the fear he reads in them, no doubt matching his own. She bites on her lip, too, a habit of hers to swallow down tears, to force herself to be stronger than she looks.

“Say it,” he demands.

Her reply is immediate. “I’m not afraid.”

Bellamy nods, leans forwards to kiss her forehead, and tugs a dark strand of hair behind her ear. There is little strength to her words, but everyone around them is panicking, crying, yelling, so at least Octavia’s fake calmness is an improvement in comparison.

“Again.”

“I’m not afraid.”

He squeezes her arm, if only for a second, as if that alone could give her the courage she so obviously needs. They all need it, as the bells ring loud and clear above their heads, as the crowd keep growing and growing around them. Kitchen staff, guards, noblemen alike – all hiding in the dungeons as if it could help, as if it would save them from the ineluctable. Save them from the curse.

“Say it ‘till you mean it, O.”

Ever the docile one when she’s scared, his sister starts muttering the words, over and over again, as she presses her eyes shut. It is nothing more than a distraction, just a way to keep her mind off things, but it proves itself working and so Bellamy won’t make her stop now.

He looks around him, looks at the wary faces of the people – people he has seen every day since he was but a lad, people who have seen him growing up, who have grown up with him. Nathan is but a few feet away from where the siblings are standing, a reassuring hand on a girl’s shoulder as she cries and shivers – he has never been a people’s person, the main reason why he became a guard just like his father, but today is a day of exceptions and he comforts the poor lass with a kind word.

Both he and Bellamy look up when the door opens with a loud bang, letting a handful of men from the Royal Guard in. Byrne is among them, her Commander of the Guard’s cloak crimson with blood at the hem. Bellamy doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to – everyone knows Cage would send his men too, just in case.

Byrne only needs a nod for Bellamy to let go of Octavia, not without a last promise to be back by her side as soon as possible. His loyalty lies with her, first and foremost, but he also swore allegiance to his king.

And his king needs him, now more than ever.

Byrne doesn’t say a word, not until they are far from the dungeons, far from the people. “We need to protect the princess, for her to make it to the wardrobe. That is the priority, the only mission. If she dies, if she is taken by the curse, we are all doomed. Is that clear?”

Bellamy nods alongside the others, his hand finding the pommel of his sword with ease. He has never killed a man before, has never been in a proper battle, only training with other guardsmen – he guesses that will change today. He isn’t ready to take a life, probably never will be, but knows the princess’s life is more important than his moral compass. Knows of her prophecy, of her destiny – she will save them all from the curse, as long as she enters the wardrobe before the curse hits.

The clamour of battle reaches his ears by the time they make it to the main hall, and so Bellamy unsheathes his sword, his every muscle tensing with anticipation. He knows the fastest way to the princess’s chambers, if only because he knows the entire castle like the back of his hand – too many a lost hour wandering its hallways and exploring its rooms when he was a child – so he doesn’t hesitate turning left to reach a door, hidden behind a heavy tapestry.

The stairs are narrow but empty of enemies, and so he climbs them with hurried steps that lead him to the royal wing. There is no surprise in the sound of metal against metal as he nears the princess’s chambers – she wouldn’t go out without a fight, spitfire that she is – but he starts running anyway. She may be good with a sword, but he has no doubt her enemies are stronger, and will have the upper hand if only in number.

Still, the scene unfolding in front of his eyes when he rounds a corner doesn’t disappoint him. Both the king and the princess are there, fighting with their backs to each other and their sword in hand – the king’s dripping with blood. They’re a sight to behold, surely, each fiercer that the other as they spare with their enemies, slashing through leather and flesh alike like they would do butter. A dozen men surround them, though, so Bellamy takes a deep breath before he jumps into the battle.

He has the benefit of surprise, if only for a second. But a second is more than enough for him to knock out one man before turning to another with a feral grin. He lets his instincts guide him as he falls back into the easy steps that come with hours of training, with muscles used to the movements. The silver of his sword soon turn crimson too and, as he unsheathes it from the belly of Cage’s soldier – he winces at the thought, his first kill –, he turns around to find all their enemies on the floor, in various states of death or unconsciousness.

Bellamy looks up to the king, but the older man only has eyes for his daughter. Rightfully so, of course, as he puts a hand on her lower back, pushes her forwards. Her eyes are wide, the blue a cold fire in the dim lights of the corridor, as she stares at the men at her feet. Her father pushes her away a little more strongly, and so she starts walking even if distress still paints her features.

Even if neither of them acknowledges his presence, Bellamy follows – what else is there to do, after all, when he swore to give his life for this family? He does hope he will not go so far as to die tonight, though, Octavia’s unshed tears flashing in his mind when he blinks – the curse is to hit, and he doesn’t want her to be alone when it does. Doesn’t want her to be alone in whatever life will be there once the orange fog engulfs them.

The king barges towards the royal nursery, holding on to his daughter’s wrist as he goes. He raises a leg as to kick the door open, no time wasted on decorum, when the shouts of more men stop him in his tracks. Bellamy barely has time to register what is happening before more enemies appear, seemingly out of nowhere. He doesn’t think, only acts, as he grabs the princess by the arm and pulls himself between her and Cage’s men.

“Open the damn door!” he all but yells at her, respect and politeness be damn when he blocks a sword with his own. “ _Now_!”

He hears her struggling with the handle, because of course the thing would be locked when they need it open the most. She starts hitting on it with the pommel of her own sword while he acts as a shield between her and the men, the king fighting some off not ten feet away form where Bellamy stands.

She lets out a little yelp of joy when the door finally agrees to open, the sound so out of place it startles Bellamy for a second. Still, the next moment he pushes her inside with his shoulder – she will hate him for it, not that he cares – as he cuts through a man’s side.

“To the wardrobe!” he screams.

Not that she would need his instructions, but better safe than sorry. And, really he isn’t all that surprised when she doesn’t obey – not that he should be shouting orders her way in the first place, but, still.

“Papa,” she says, plaintively, as she looks for her father over his shoulder.

Bellamy sighs, before turning to her just enough to look at her in the eyes – so blue and beautiful and desperate. “I will go back to him and bring him to you. I swear.” He nods, for emphasis. “But you need to go. _Now_.”

She hesitates long enough for him to nudge her a little too forcefully with his shoulder once more, just enough as to break her out of her haze. She nods and, finally, turns to the wardrobe.

Another man is running toward Bellamy when he feels the gust of magic in his back. He can’t help but grin at the enemy standing in front of him, confusion settling over his face. Bellamy laughs, the chuckle cold yet delightful. “You lost,” he tells the man, before running him through with his sword. The body hasn’t even reached the floor that Bellamy is already running back inside to help the king.

He freezes in horror when he crosses the doorframe.

It all happens slowly yet fast, a flash of fabric and metal as Bellamy witnesses the sword making its way into the king’s stomach, wrenching a cry of pain from him. The king falls to his knees, giving Cage’s man the perfect angle for a last blow – one he doesn’t have the opportunity to give as Bellamy urges forwards and kill him first in a single slash of his sword.

“Your Majesty, now,” he whispers as he falls to his knees in front of the king, holding him by the shoulders. “You need to follow your daughter to the Land Without Magic. You need to go.”

King Jacob’s eyes are glassy already, and Bellamy’s grow wide as his mind screams _no, no, no_. They were close, so close to succeeding, they can’t lose now, can’t lose so close to the end. His hands get desperate as he struggles to keep the king in an upward position, fighting against the dead weight of him.

“You go, boy,” he tells Bellamy, his voice hoarse and breathless as blood appears at the corners of his mouth. “Go with her. Help her.”

“I – I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” There is determination in his voice, still. “You _must_.”

His eyes roll at the back of his skull before his lids shut tight, and he falls backward. Bellamy helps him lay on the floor, staring for way too long at a single drop of blood runs down his mouth, his cheek, and disappears in his blond hair. He stares, and stares, before the clamour outside brings him back to the reality of the moment, reminds him of the events unfolding around him.

He stands up on wobbly legs, looks out the window – even in the darkness of the night, the orange cloud can’t be missed, casting yellow shadows on the forest and within the castle. Bellamy looks over his shoulder, then back at the cloud. His mind screams for him to go back downstairs, to go back to the dungeons and hug Octavia one last time before the curse hits. But the king, his king, still lies at his feet, and another voice, one that sounds like Byrne’s, screams at him to remember his duty, his oath.

His choice is made, even if it is a difficult one.

The orange cloud of the curse hits the castle as the same time he closes the wardrobe’s door on himself.

 

…

 

He falls to his knees in the grass, holding his hands out to break his fall – a jolt runs up his arms and he winces in pain before looking up to the forest around him. The air is different, smoky and metallic as it fills his lungs, makes him cough slightly. Still he rises, grabbing his sword in the process, as he scans his surroundings with something akin to curiosity beneath the alertness. It wouldn’t do to let his guard down now, but he also wants to discover the word around him, wants to learn more about this curious new land he finds himself trapped in.

He forces himself not to think of Octavia as the word ‘trapped’ crosses his mind – if he ponders on it now, he will most certainly drown in his own dark thoughts, and he can’t allow himself sure a weakness now. She is strong, and fierce, and stubborn; whatever happens, he has no doubt she’ll manage just fine, even if it kills him not to be by her side for the first time since she was born.

No, instead he is by the princess’s side, as she stands a few feet away from him, sword still in hand and white nightgown pooling around her legs. She’s barefoot, which will prove problematic soon, and covered in blood. She’s also shivering – from the cold or from shock, he isn’t certain.

“Your Highness?” he asks tentatively, as not to scare her.

She startles anyway, fingers curling more tightly around the hilt of her sword as she turns around, ready to fight. Her eyes open wide at the sight of him, before travelling to a point above his shoulder, and it dawns on him before she even speaks.

“Where is my father?” He closes his eyes only to picture the King’s, blue and glassy. “ _Where_ is he?”

“He – I’m afraid he didn’t make it, Your Highness.”

Realisation contorts her beautiful face, eyes growing even wider as the tears freely run down her cheeks, bottom lip trembling until she bites down on it, hard enough to draw blood. Bellamy isn’t exactly certain how to react to that, partly because crying maidens always scared him half to death, partly because she is a princess and will probably not react kindly to being comforted by a member of the guard.

Still, he takes a step closer to her, just in case, because she seems frozen on the spot and it frightens him even more so than the tears. The last thing he wants is for her to have a meltdown right now, but her father is dead and her entire kingdom cursed, so maybe her reaction in that moment is appropriate. What does he know about such things?

“Your Highness?” Bellamy asks again, voice barely more than a whisper – like one would talk to a wounded deer for it not to run away and make matter worse.

She looks so young and fragile in that moment, despite the deadly weapon she’s still holding on to – she’s barely of age, after all, and yet carries the weight of the word on her shoulders, the responsibility of saving her people from Cage. So many responsibilities it may as well swallow her, and Bellamy pities her a bit.

“Your Highness,” he says again, a little more strongly this time.

But a loud sound, louder than he ever heard before, startle them both, and so they both turn to it at the same time – looking up to see a metal bird in the sky. Bellamy has never seen anything of the like before, and it says a lot when he grew up with Raven inventing a hundred different engines when she wasn’t too busy with her chores of the day. This bird seems propped up by some kind of magic, but the sound it makes tells a different story, and so Bellamy just frowns at it until it disappears out of sight.

“What was that?” he asks uselessly.

“I have no idea,” the princess replies. Already she’s squaring her shoulders, her face an emotionless canvas. It is impressive, how she can be a shivering mess one second then calm and collected the next instant. The life of a noblewoman, probably. “We should move, the sun is going to set soon.”

Bellamy nods in reply, but he isn’t certain she notices before she’s already moving forwards with a new determination in her steps. He has no idea where they are heading, and neither does she, but at least she pretends otherwise. He might respect her a little more for it.

That is, until she stops in her tracks and turns back to him, a frown on her brow as she stares at him without a word. A slight blush creeps up her cheeks when she finally averts her eyes. “What is your name?”

He can’t help it, when a dry chuckle escapes his lips. Not that he expected otherwise – she is the future queen and he is a newly appointed member of the guard like there is a hundred more in the castle – but it still stings, if only a little.

“Bellamy, Your Highness.”

Her eyes lights up a bit before she says, “Octavia’s brother?”

His stomach is in knots at the way his sister’s name sound in the princess’s mouth – a tangle of emotions that makes him want to throw up again with the thought of breaking his promise to come back. He forces a tight smile in his lips, though. “Yes, indeed.”

Octavia had be appointed as one of the princess’s maids not four months ago – such a step up from kitchen duties and potato peeling. He isn’t all that surprised that four months were enough for her to make a name for herself – and for him, too, apparently.

The princess nods, once, before resuming her purposeful walking. Bellamy falls into step behind her again, and so they settle into an easy pace through the forest, not once starting a conversation. Hell, Bellamy wouldn’t even know where to start. ‘Sorry about the king, he was a good man’? ‘So, how are you supposed to break that curse’? ‘What’s Cage’s deal with you anyway’? Somehow, none of those lines seems appropriate, so Bellamy elected to shut up and let her brood instead.

The sun is low in the sky, all in crimsons and oranges and golden hues, when the princess finally stops, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. It takes Bellamy three steps to come and stand next to her, and only then does he notice what had her halt. _What_ that is remains a mystery, some kind of road, grey and smooth and mad of a material he has never seen before. He thinks back to the metal bird they saw a few hours before and knows the Land Without Magic still have many mysteries in store for them.

The princess cautiously taps the road with one toe – she’s still barefoot, _gods_ – before she steps forwards. She stops again, looks down, to her right, to her left. Then, surprisingly, she looks at him above her shoulder. It is the first time since the beginning of their walk that she had acknowledged his presence by her side, and Bellamy isn’t all that sure what he is supposed to do now.

“Left or right?” she asks, as if privy of his confused thoughts.

It makes matter worse – since when does a member of the royal family ask a lowborn his opinion on anything? – but he forces himself not to dwell on it as he steps on the curious road too. Roads mean civilisation, which means food and lodging, and perhaps even answers to their questions. Not much, but something. Whether it be a town or a village, or hell even an inn by the side of the road, he takes whatever comes their way.

“Right?” he says.

He didn’t mean it to sound like a question, but his voice rises anyway. Not that the princess seem to notice, for she nods and then starts walking to the right without any further comment. As always, Bellamy follows, looking above his shoulder every so often in hope of finding a rider or another traveller of any kind. They remain alone for another half an hour, before his ears make out the sound of – _something_.

It is another ten minutes, sound growing stronger with every step they take, before they find themselves in front of a little town, one Bellamy has never seen the likes of which before. If the metal bird was a surprise, and the road a curiosity, they have nothing on the town in front of them. There is noise everywhere, and lamps that doesn’t seem to be lit by candles, and weird wheeled machines on the streets, even weirder little shops and houses. Everything is foreign, different, unknown, that Bellamy barely notices the princess’s hand finding his, her fingers locking between them and squeezing hard enough to be painful.

He looks down to their entwined finger, goosebumps rising on her fair skin and arm shivering even so slightly. He squeezes back to reassure her, to let her know she isn’t alone in this strange word – whatever happens next, it is his duty to follow her, to help her. She casts him a glance, gratefulness in her eyes even if she doesn’t quite smile.

When her fingers slip out of his hold, his palm feels cold all of a sudden, skin tinkling in protest. He shakes his hand, wills the feeling to go away.

They don’t make it too far before they meet someone, a woman wearing weird clothes and holding a little dog in her arms. She gasps when she sees them, and holds on tighter to her pet, horror written on her features as she takes a few steps back. It goes downhill from there – they’re both covered in blood, after all, even if it has dried and turn into a brown hue, the princess not wearing shoes, their swords still in hand. Something tells Bellamy it might not be a casual sight.

One of the wheeled machines stops next to them on the road, and so Bellamy stops too, a hand on the princess’s elbow for her to do the same. A man and a woman come out of the machine, and Bellamy almost sighs in relief at their matching uniforms – some sort of guards, or sheriffs, and definitely this town’s kind of authority figure, bless the gods.

“Everything okay there?” the man asks as he puts his hands on his hips.

Bellamy lets the princess do the talking, quite obviously. “We might be lost, actually,” she says, her voice uncertain. “If you could maybe direct us to the nearest inn, we would be most grateful.”

The two sheriffs glance at each other with matching frowns, before the woman starts talking in the little black box clipped to her collar. Bellamy doesn’t understand everything she says, but he can make out the words ‘re-enactment freaks taking it too far’, whatever that is supposed to mean.

“You are going to come with us, okay?” the man says. “No funny business, just get in the car.”

He moves closer to the wheeled machine, opens the door, and gives them a pointed look. The princess and he know better than to argue, and they enter the strange carriage without a word. There is a grid between the front and back seats, which doesn’t mean anything good – the machine makes the same kinds of noise the metal bird did, too, and the princess’s hand find his once again. This time, Bellamy refuses to let go, probably because he needs her moral support as much as she needs his.

Once they reach the building – it reads ‘police station’ on the front – they are shoved into a room, one with a table and a handful of chairs in the middle. No other piece of furniture inside, but Bellamy shrugs it off as he pulls a chair for the princess to sit. He stands behind her, fingers etching for the sword they took from him, not liking being weaponless in such a place.

The door opens suddenly, and so Bellamy places himself between it and the princess as the same woman from before enters the room. She quirks an eyebrow at the sight but doesn’t say anything as she moves to take a seat by the other side of the table and slowly folds her hands on top of it. She gives Bellamy a pointed look, then does the same with the empty chair, then back to his face. He doesn’t move an inch.

“Fine,” she says, even if it sounds anything but. “Whose blood is it?”

She nods to Bellamy’s clothes, then to the princess’s. “Ours,” the princess lies through her teeth, voice calm and composed. There is an open gash on her arm and Bellamy’s side has been hurting for hours, so the lie holds. “We were trekking through the forest, and it didn’t go as well as planned.”

“What about your shoes, lady?”

The princess’s mouth opens in protest, surely to put the woman back in her place and _do you have any idea who am I?_

Bellamy speaks up before she can actually form words, though. “Lost them. We were running, things got messy. You know how it is.”

He offers the woman a bright smile, one she mirrors ironically. Then she turns back to the princess, her frown deepening. When she speaks again, her voice is softer, more concerned. “Do you want us to talk about what happened, _alone_? You’re safe here.”

The princess looks at him in confusion for a few seconds – it dawns on them at the exact same time, eyes lightening up with realisation before growing wide. She turns back to the other woman, scandalised. “He isn’t violent with me.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“Like hell I would hurt her!”

Anger builds within him. He isn’t naïve enough to believe such men don’t exist – too many bruises on his mother’s fair skin prevented it from thinking as such – but he wants to laugh at the mere idea of _him_ doing that to a woman. To the princess. Not only would he never stick so low as to act so disgustingly toward a woman, but he is pretty certain the princess would kill him on the spot if he ever dared thinking about it. He’s seen her with a sword, after all.

“Okay, have it your way,” the woman goes on, though obviously unconvinced. “What’s your deal anyway, with the clothes and the blood and the swords? World of Warcraft party gone wrong?”

He has no idea what that is supposed to mean.

‘Think fast!’ Octavia would say when they were working in the kitchen, throwing a potato his way so he would catch it before it hit him square in the face. _Think fast_ , and so he does. “Yes, we took it a little too far, I’m afraid.”

She frowns. He smiles again.

“Okay, fine then.”

 

…

 

She clings to her necklace, fingers curling around the pearls, and it takes all of Bellamy’s self-control not to snap at her here and there. She’s been ridiculous, really, and it doesn’t help that he’s running on very little hours of sleep and an empty stomach. All he wants is to have a hot meal and a good night of sleep, before they can do whatever they’re supposed to do at first light tomorrow.

If only one princess wasn’t being so damn _stubborn_ about it.

“It was a gift from my betrothed for my sixteen birthday!”

“Do I look like I care about that?”

“You will not raise your voice when speaking to me!”

“And what you going to do about it, huh?”

Maybe he’s being ridiculous about it too, but the innkeeper wants to be paid before he gives them the key to their room and they don’t have the kind of money this land requires. What they have is the princess’s jewels, around her neck and wrists as well as on her ears, which they can barter for money, and he’ll be damn if he lets her be a stubborn brat about it. They won’t go that far in their quest if she lets them starve to death.

“Leave it alone,” she tells him, with fire in her eyes.

“Bloody hell, give me the damn necklace already.”

She’s making a scene and he has no idea how she ever gained the reputation she had back in their land – the kind, generous princess, loved and adored in every kingdom there is – because right now he can’t see the appeal. She’s just being obtuse and, quite honestly, childish about it. He doesn’t mind skipping a meal, it wouldn’t be the first time after all, and sleeping out in the open may be uncomfortable but not impossible. But it’s coming from a seamstress’s son, not from a king’s daughter, so he knows she will have to see it his way at some point.

If that point could be soon rather than later, it would be all the better.

“Listen,” he says, and forces himself to adopt the voice he would use with Octavia when she was younger and refused to go to bed. “This isn’t our land, you’re not a princess anymore. Your name alone doesn’t grant us free lodging, but you have a way for us to make some money, and we need it right now. I’m certain Prince Wells will be happy to give you more necklaces once we’re done with the curse. But we need the _money_ , now.”

She glares at him for a very long time, before she reaches for the clasps of her necklace at the nape of her neck. He holds his hand to her, palm up, fingers curling around the necklace once she gives it to him. He smiles at her, mostly because she’s been through a rough day and he needs to cut her some slack, before he turns back to the pawnbroker’s shop.

He isn’t exactly certain how much the little pieces of paper in his hands are worth, but the innkeeper is happy enough when they pay the room for the night – breakfast included! – and so it’s all Bellamy focuses on right now.

That is, until he opens the door to the actual room.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he tells the princess before she has time to fuss about the only bed in the room. It is big enough for the both of them, but Bellamy knows better than to push his luck. The policewoman may have taken their swords, but that doesn’t make the princess any less of a threat. She could still kill him with her bare hands if she so wishes.

With a sigh, he grabs one of the pillows and lets it fall at his feet, before turning to the wardrobe in hope he will find at least a blanket. The princess does some exploring of her own, opening a door that might lead to the washroom. She plays with one thing or another, making little metallic sounds, before her loud squeak of surprise is followed by… the sound of _rain_?

“Bellamy!”

It’s a bit embarrassing, how fast he runs by her side.

(It’s the first time she’s used his name, and it rolls smoothly down her tongue, like music to his ears. He wants her to say it again, wants to keep hearing his name in her mouth.)

When he enters the room, it’s to find some kind of glass closet, water indeed raining down. The princess holds her hand, and smiles delightfully. “It’s hot!” she says, like she found a treasure of her own. It surely is the highlight of an otherwise dreadful day.

Bellamy looks around to see the other wonders hidden in the room, but she’s already pushing him out of the room. “Hush, hush, I’m going to wash now.”

As he sits on the bed and listens to the water falling by the other side of the door, he forces himself not to think about anything. But, try as he might, there is still a naked princess – a naked, _wet_ princess – sharing his lodgings, and the thoughts still cross his mind, as forbidden as they are.

With a sigh, he rubs his hand down his face. Hopefully she will break the curse soon enough and he will go back to his peaceful life, one that only involves training and wooing Roma in the kitchens. Soon, he thinks, soon he will go back to his old life and forget about beautiful princesses with stubbornness in their eyes.

“We’ll need clothes, too.”

His head snaps up to the sound of her voice. She stands in the doorframe, wearing the clothes the police gave them, grey and ill-fit but at least bloodless. She plays with the hem of the shirt, looking down to her bare toes. They have new shoes, too, but she won’t need them for the night. It makes for such an intimate scene, with her wet hair and flushed cheeks, that Bellamy doesn’t know what to do of it.

His body reacts though, fire burning in his veins at the sight of her long legs and faire skin, at the way her hair frames her face, and how she keeps fidgeting with her clothes, toes curling and uncurling. His body reacts even if it isn’t supposed too, but the shame flashing through Bellamy’s mind holds little strength next to the lush settling deep in his bones.

“I’ll go wash too, then.”

And if he takes matter in his own hands under the running water, releasing himself after a few, purposeful jerks and with the princess’s beautiful face in mind, well – no one can blame him, really. He comes with his teeth biting into the flesh of his bottom lip not to groan of pleasure, and presses his forehead against the cold wall after that.

His cheeks are flushed when he looks at himself in the mirror as he towels his body, and the freckles stand out even more so than usual. His hair is a mess and his eyes exhausted, but at least he washed the blood and grim off his face and looks a little more like himself now.

He killed a man for the first time today – took more than one life, actually – and is now stranded in an unknown land with a princess who makes him feel way too much. So he rubs a hand down his face and stares at his own reflexion, knowing the next couple of days (weeks? months? gods, _years_?) can only get worse from there.

With a sigh he leaves the room. The princess is already under the blanket of her not-so-royal bed, blonde hair fanning around her as she presses her face to the pillow. As silently as possible he switches off the light, before lying down on the floor and staring at the ceiling.

“Thank you,” she says, so quietly he barely makes out the words. “For following me when you didn’t need to.”

He closes his eyes, sees Octavia’s face in the darkness, hears the king’s voice in his ear. _You must_. “Only doing my job, Your Highness.”

He stares at the ceiling some more, and pretends he doesn’t hear her crying herself to sleep that night.

 

…

 

Her eyes are rimmed with red the following morning, her hair a tangled mess on top of her head, and the clothes don’t look any better on her small frame. She’s still the most beautiful woman Bellamy has ever seen. Which is enough to make him groan in frustration, but he manages to pass it out as back pains when she looks his way, stretching his arms above his head to make his point.

(His back does hurt enough to make him groan, too, so he needs little pretending on that front.)

She finds a little comb in the washroom and braids her hair, so she looks a little more like her regal self by the time they are ready to go out for breakfast. The inn’s main room is empty as they go downstairs, and so they pick the first table they see, Bellamy pulling her chair for her.

“Wow, quite the gentleman,” a waitress says as she walks towards them, jug of orange juice in hands. She winks to the princess, “Got yourself a keeper.”

The princess bows her head, but it doesn’t quite hide her smile. Bellamy feels both like blushing and standing a little taller.

“The buffet is right there,” the waitress goes on with a nod to the table full of food by the other side of the room, all the while pouring two glasses of juice. “Just help yourself and call if you need anything, okay?”

They both nod and thank her, before she leaves the room. The smell of bacon and hot bread makes the princess’s stomach groan loudly, and Bellamy barely stifles a laugh as he stands up and follows her to the buffet. Their plates are filled with food in an instant, everything looking mouth-watering when they haven’t eaten in what feels like forever – that’s more food than Bellamy has ever had access to in his lifetime, but he tries not to make a big deal of it. That is, until he pours himself a cup of hot cocoa, puts the plate down to taste the hot drink immediately. The chocolate slides down his throat and settles warmly in his stomach, making him hum appreciatively.

It’s the princess’s time to laugh. “Cacao beans from Agrabah are so expensive, I can’t believe they’re serving it for free in this land.”

She helps herself to it too, before she goes back to pilling pastries, chocolates and fruits on her plate. Sweet tooth, then.

They eat in silence at first, too busy enjoying the food to bother with any kind of conversation. They fill their plates a second time – who knows when they’ll have access to such a feast again – before going back to their tables. Still, with their stomach fuller and appetite satisfied, it allows for conversation at last. Sadly not the peaceful kind one would usually have so early in the morning.

“So, how does it work, then?” he asks around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

She frowns. “I actually have no idea. I need to find where my people are, and I need to break the curse, but that is all I know on the matter.”

Perfect. Simply _perfect_.

“Wasn’t there a prophecy though?”

“ _Yes_.” She frowns, obviously upset. “And it’s a prophecy, not a cook book. It said I would be the one to break the curse, but didn’t give further details.”

“Huh.” Bellamy frowns at this, because it doesn’t make her task complicated – it makes it impossible. If this realm is as big as theirs, or even bigger, it could take years for them to explore it all, and he has no doubt the curse will act in a way that will not make their task easy.

For the first time since he decided to follow the princess inside the wardrobe, Bellamy truly regrets his choice. He could be with Octavia right now – cursed, but with Octavia nonetheless. It may be a selfish thought to have, but Bellamy never declared himself a selfless mind. He thinks of his sister and mother first, and himself second; everything else is an after-thought, a detail he could do without.

But now his entire life revolves around the little blonde thing in front of him – his life is hers to play with, and he has no other choice but to follow her wherever she so wishes. It wasn’t the oath he had taken, not exactly, and so Bellamy feels cheated at life.

 _It could be worse_ , a little voice in his head tells him, but said little voice doesn’t hold much strength when he slept on the floor the night before. So Bellamy sighs and rubs his nose with his thumb as to gather his thoughts. It doesn’t help much.

“We should find a library,” the princess says after long seconds of silence. “It can be a start.”

He nods, because she is right, and drinks a long sip of hot chocolate – still delightful, but it is not enough to sooth his bad mood now. As if sensing the tension that has settles between them, the princess goes back to her own breakfast in silence, and they finish eating without another word.

She asks the innkeeper for clothes and a library – he points them to a nearby shop, and then explains that the town is too little for it to have a library and so they will have to take the bus (what even?) to another place to find what they’re looking for. She thanks the man with another smile and kind word, the spitting image of politeness and grace, before leaving the inn.

Bellamy follows, because that’s what he is doomed to do from now on.

The shop isn’t that far and they hurry to pick a decent outfit, or at least whatever passes for a decent outfit with this realm’s unknown fashion sense. The girl working there doesn’t look too scandalized by his choice of white shirt and blue pants, and neither is she of the princess’s dress and soft leather jacket, to which they add a bag to carry the little belongings they have. Bellamy has to pay an impressive number of little green papers, though, something he doesn’t quite enjoys – he would rather not sell all of the princess’s jewels right now, least she throws another of her tantrums.

The bus – big car, apparently – is thankfully less expensive, and they take seats in the back, the princess looking at the landscape outside as they make way to the other town the innkeeper told them about. She seems deep in her thoughts, tears pooling at the corner of her eyes, and so Bellamy refrains from asking more questions about the curse. For now, he settles more comfortably in his seat, and lets the princess to her mourning.

It is, after all, the least he can do.

 

…

 

The books prove to be of little use. Not that they expected a miracle, really, but the reality of it isn’t any less depressing after three hours spent going through every book about magic, history, myths. Bellamy is amazed to see this realm shares many a tale with their land – names familiar and stories well-known – but it isn’t all that comforting when they haven’t made a single step forwards.

The princess keeps eyeing the devices aligned against a wall of the library, like they hold the answers to their questions. Perhaps they do, what does he know of those things? So, curiously, Bellamy moves closer to them. A lad, no older than ten, is sitting in front of one of the devices, engrossed in the moving pictures in front of him. Bellamy waits for a few seconds, before he clears his throat. The princess is by his side when the lad looks up to them.

“Can you show me how that works?” he asks with a nod to the device.

The lad frowns, openly confused, and then frowns some more. “No,” he scoffs before going back to his moving pictures.

Bellamy sighs and rolls his eyes. At least something that doesn’t change, he thinks as he reaches for one little paper in his pocket, one with 20 written on it. He holds it in front of the lad’s nose, and asks again, “Can you show me how that works?”

The lad snatches the paper from him before standing up, leaving his moving pictures behind. Bellamy sits in front of another device, sharing a glance and a nod with the princess before he focuses back on the lad.

Lad who’s still frowning, may he add. “Are you a Hamish?”

Whatever a Hamish is, Bellamy is pretty sure he isn’t one. So he answers a simple “No,” and then nods to the device again, to go back on tracks. The lad shows him how this thing – a computer, apparently – works and how to go on the Internet (?) and how to basically look for things. He shows how to click on another page, then go back, then click again, and Bellamy is glad he has a sharp mind otherwise he would be lost in a minute.

When the lad is done with his explanations (“So that’s that, really.”), Bellamy thanks him and waits until he has left them before turning back to the princess. She’s smiling, a really, hopeful smile that makes her eyes shine a little, and she takes a seat next to him and scoots closer with both her elbows on the desk, chin resting on her closed fists.

“Let’s try this. Write ‘parallels realms’.”

He does that, which leads to confusion more than anything else (“What the hell is a movie?”) when they understand that it leads to a lot of fictional books and stories. So they try again, ‘land without magic’, and again, ‘dark curse’. No matter the words he writes, the results are never the ones they’re hoping for. The princess becomes restless after a while, growing more and more frustrated with each passing minute. It is only when her stomach groans loudly that they call for a well deserved break and leave the library to find some place to eat.

They settle for a diner and grilled cheese, mostly because it’s the least weird-sounding item on the menu, eating in silence, too lost in their thoughts to bother with conversation. It is only after the princess has emptied her glass of apple juice that she looks back at him.

“We’ll find a way,” she tells him.

“I know we will, Your Highness.”

She crunches up her nose. “I have a name, you know.”

“I know, _Your Highness_.”

Ruffling her feathers is entertaining, even more so when she opens her mouth and slaps his shoulder, scandalized by his cheekiness. Her mood swings throw him off the loop every so often, from brooding and mourning to smiling and teasing, but he likes her that way – carefree and laughing with him, eyes shining a vibrant blue, pink lips curling up.

He remembers the previous evening and how beautiful she had been, clean and still a little damp.

He remembers, and even if he would never admit it, not out loud and not to himself, Bellamy would follow her to the end of the world. Not just because he has no other choice, but because he would never be able to say no to her. He barely knows her, but he knows one thing – he’s so very doomed.


	2. Chapter 2

“A book in which the author tells the story of his or her own life.”

Bellamy doesn’t look up from where he’s lying in bed, the mattress hard like wood against his back and the pillow not so great under his head – it will make for an uncomfortable night, but it was the cheapest lodging they could find in the town, and they are short on money lately. He doesn’t move as he rolls his eyes and mumbles the answer as the same time the man on the screen does.

“What is an autobiography?”

He grabs one of the passports lying by his side, idly flips through it until he stops at the page with the key information. Clarke Griffin, American, born on some random date eighteen years ago. Her picture speaks of many a sleepless night and long travel as she glares in front of her, head high and proud – she looks like she’s trying to kill someone with her eyes alone, but Bellamy’s picture isn’t any better if he’s quite honest. They’d taken the pictures late at night before meeting with guy who would falsify their papers for them, looking above their shoulder way too many times for it too look innocuous.

It was two weeks ago, and Bellamy still doesn’t understand how they never got arrested for it because they weren’t all too subtle about it. Not that he’s going to complain, for they have papers now, and an identity, and no longer fear being questioned by the police if it ever happens.

“This Goddess is in charge of love and romanced endeavours.”

He scoffs as he looks to the television screen on the little desk opposite his bed. Perhaps the room was expensive because of the television, come to think about it, but Bellamy has grown accustomed to the background noise it provides by now. And to its game programs, too, even if he took a liking in documentaries and other programs of the kind.

The door to his left opens, and he turns his head to it as he replies, “Who is Aphrodite?”

She stands in the doorframe, towelling her hair and ruffling it a bit in the process. The bathroom’s light draws shadows on her face and turns her hair golden, and Bellamy finds himself staring for a second before he shakes his head and focuses back on the other passport in his hands.

Bellamy Blake, American, twenty-three. It’s all so very official.

“This group of people travelled from England to Plymouth.”

“Who are the Pilgrims,” he replies in a heartbeat, his voice proud and confident.

The princess chuckles as she throws the towel over the back of a chair and moves closer to the bed to sit next to him, folding her legs under her. She wears the damn shirt the policemen gave them on their first day in the Land Without Magic, having grown somewhat fond of it through the weeks. ‘To remember where it all started,’ she had said once, and Bellamy understands the need to keep track of passing time, to make sure they never forget. It’s been four months, already, and if feels like a second and a lifetime.

“You’re bragging, now,” she tells him, ghost of a smile on her lip.

Bellamy grabs the little card by his side and shows it to her in a flourish. “Gotta keep up with appearances, princess.”

She wrinkles her nose as she studies the card that introduces him as a proud grad student of Ancient Greek history and mythology at the University of Wisconsin (“Go Badgers!”), but Bellamy knows her face has little to do with the card and a lot to do with the nickname.

He has learnt early on that the only thing she hates more than not being addressed by her royal title, is to be addressed by a _wrong_ title. Which obviously means he does it all the time, since ruffling her feathers is so entertaining. The ‘princess’ nickname had stuck after a while, after a waitress had told them how cute a pet name it was – she had groaned and he has smirked and the rest, as they say, is history.

“Speaking of which,” he goes on, handing her the second student card. “Why art history?”

She shrugs but remains silent as she stares at her own card between her fingers, and for a moment Bellamy thinks she won’t answer at all. The man forging their papers had let them chose the field of their liking, and Bellamy had chosen the most logical one to pursue their researches about the curse without raising too many an eyebrow. The princess had chosen art, though he still doesn’t understand why.

“I love art, is all,” she shrugs again. “It doesn’t matter if I don’t understand the art in the realm, or even the different styles. Art isn’t to be understood, it’s to be felt.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, as to dare him to say something to that, but her eye hold an new flame to them, passionate and loving, and so Bellamy knows better than to pock fun at what obviously is a interest of hers. He nods with the tiniest of smiles, before his eyes dart back to the television screen. But his will to answer the questions is gone by now, and so he watches the program in silence as the princess settles more comfortably under the blanket next to him.

She no longer denies him the right to sleep by her side, something his back is most grateful for, but nights spent together are laced with awkwardness with each brush of skin against skin that startles them away from each other. He’s already slept with a woman before, of course, but never quite like that, never so platonically – hence how careful he is not to move too much, how painfully aware he is of his own body when the princess is in his vicinity.

“What are we to do tomorrow?” she asks, voice slightly muffled by the pillow against which she presses her face. She will be out in a matter of minutes, lucky enough to fall asleep easily when his own mind keeps him awake for hours.

“I’ll go look for a job,” he replies. “You can go to the local library in the meantime.”

They had to trade off both her earrings to pay for the papers and, even if it was as vital as purchases go, now only have her bracelet and engagement ring left. Which obviously means they will need to find a new way of making money – hence the need to find a job. They’re in this town for a couple of weeks anyway, waiting for some random professor in some random university to be back from his holiday so they can talk to him about their quest. Hopefully it will go more smoothly than with the other men they talked to before, and that this one will know something about witchcraft and magic instead of just trading in theories and false truths.

Bellamy isn’t all that excited at the idea of having to find a job – even if traveling can be exhausting, he’s taken a liking to not having to work from dawn till dusk, not having to wake up with the sun and go to bed with sore muscles. He’s not looking forwards to whatever menial task he’ll have to do, but he has a princess to feed and a roof over their head to pay for, so he will clean other people’s hallways if it comes to that.

The princess hums her approval and, without moving for her lying position next to him, she reaches for the passport still on his stomach. She flips through it with a pout, deep in thoughts, before she asks, “Would that allow us to travel to that place oversea?”

One of the professors they met had told her of a place named Oxford, and how they could find the answers to some of their questions there – the place old and prestigious, the library full with manuscripts on every sorts of subjects.

“Yes, it would. Thought there’s still the question of money.”

She huffs and puffs, and Bellamy laughs in reply. Even irritating at times, her royal behaviour can be quite entertaining. She never had to raise a finger of her life, always given what she needed and wanted, and the reality check of this realm is always a painful one for her. Sometimes she would stare at their money, frowning at the bank notes as if they have personally offended her, or perhaps waiting for them to multiply all of a sudden. Bellamy knows it is hard on her – the not eating properly and the sleeping in mediocre motel rooms – but he can’t find it in himself to pity her when this has been his life since the day he was born. (And even so, he was among the luck ones, what with his mother working at the royal castle.)

“Library tomorrow, then,” she says, the pout audible in her voice. “Goodnight, Bellamy.”

He glances at her, lids already closed, breathing evening, and takes the passport from her before he puts all their papers on the bedside table and turns off the television. He settles beneath the blankets too, before he replies, “Goodnight princess.”

She kicks his shin, and he chuckles.

 

…

 

She sits at one of the stools, elbows leaning on the counter as she curiously takes in the scenery around her. With her hair falling loosely on her shoulders and one of those flower dresses she took a liking in, she almost looks normal, but Bellamy knows better – it’s in the tilt of her chin, the pride in her eyes and how her back is always perfectly straight. It talks of hours with a preceptor, teaching her how to walk with a stack of books balancing on top of her head, it talks of beautiful gowns and heavy crowns, of the blue blood running through her veins.

She may appear like a normal girl.

She’s everything but.

And he isn’t the only one to notice, patrons looking her way every so often with lust and desire in their eyes. She’s but a prey for them, a pretty body to toy with, and Bellamy’s blood run cold at their hungry stares. It takes all his willpower not to throw a punch, because the job is good and the pay is decent; they need to stay here for another month, at least, and he can’t afford to get fired over the princess’s virtue.

“What can I get you?” he asks her, more to keep his mind busy than anything.

It’s a dull, quiet night, the bar empty if not for those damn men and their wandering eyes, so he’s been bored out of his mind for hours now. And then she appeared, a smile on her lips and a stack of books under her arm, brightening his evening with her presence alone. The princess has that effect.

“Apple juice will be fine,” she replies with another of her soft smiles.

He nods and grabs a clean glass, then a little bottle of juice, pours it for her without another word. He adds a little pink umbrella on top of it, just because it makes her grin, and slides the glass closer to her. She grins alright, and hums appreciatively as she takes a sip.

“Did you find anything?” he says next, with a nod to the books piling by her side.

She shakes her head, little pout back on her lips. “Not really, no. I could probably write a paper about Salem at that point, though, if you’re interested.”

He grins at the mention of the witchy town. It’s all they seem to find these days, more and more details about the sordid affair of woman burnt alive for crimes they most likely didn’t commit. “We should head there. Maybe we’d actually find something tangible in Salem.”

The princess gives him her most unimpressed glare, like he just told her they should go to the moon to find the answers to their question. Bellamy rolls his eyes and is about to ask her _where_ they should be heading next when the front door opens in a bang and a group of women enters with loud giggles and easy chatter. With one last look for the princess, he moves towards the table they chose to occupy, bracing himself for what is to come. Bellamy doesn’t mind the hungry stares of women – he might not be vain, but he is aware his body doesn’t leave the fairest sex indifferent – but being at the receiving end of drunk women’s advances can grow a little tiring after a while.

Tonight is no different, of course. One of them gapes at him while another leads on her friend’s shoulder to whisper furious, and he’s pretty certain two of them are blushing and all of them are picturing him naked right now. Bloody typical, but the pay is good and so are the tips, so he offers them his most charming grin as he leans forwards, both hands planted on the table.

“Evening, ladies. What can I get you?”

They all order those damn colourful cocktail that always take Bellamy ten minutes to get right, and he nods with a wink before going back behind the counter to grab a couple of glasses and even more bottles. He doesn’t need to look up to know the princess is staring.

“Why are you…” She stops, ponders on which word to choose. “ _Wooing_ them?”

He laughs a throaty chuckle and shakes his head. “It’s called _flirting_ , princess. It makes them happy and so it makes them tip me well.”

She frowns as she looks at the other women over her shoulder, then back at him, confusion pooling in her blue eyes. Surely she must have been at the receiving end of some wooing herself, what with half the lords of the Enchanted Forest wanting her hand in marriage and what with being engaged. But it amuses Bellamy greatly how puzzled a little flirting can be for her.

“Using your body for money isn’t what I’d call _flirting_.”

He laughs again, a little louder this time, as he pours alcohol in yet another glass. “We’re _not_ that desperate for money yet. But thank you, it means the world to know you think I’d make a good prostitute.”

She blushes furiously and no amount of dropping her head and letting her hair fall in front of her face hides the red of her cheeks. All Bellamy wants is to lean over the counter and flick her nose, she’s just that adorable in that moment – the impulse coming out of nowhere for he never had such thoughts about a woman, never felt the urge to act so _adorably_ around them. But, as always, all bets are off with the princess, and so he forces himself to focus back on his drinks instead of doing something he would regret.

He puts all the drinks on a trail and goes back to the table of giggling women, letting the princess a moment to compose herself. True to his words, the group tips him more than generously, and he can’t help but waves the dollar bills under the princess’s nose when he is back behind the counter once more.

“See?” he says, a little teasingly. “Will pay for tomorrow’s breakfast.”

She scoffs, evidently upset that he was proven right, and grabs one of the books, flipping it open to a random page. That is Bellamy’s cue to drop the matter, which he does as he moves to the other side of the counter to refill a man’s tankard of beer. The rest of the evening happens in quite the same fashion, refilling and pouring drinks while the princess reads in silence, sometimes scribbling something in the little notebook that follows her everywhere. The group of women asks for drinks again an hour or so after they arrive, and Bellamy all too happily obliges. They leave soon after, surely to visit another bar down the street, and the bar settles back into its usual silence, only broken by the background noise of the radio.

Not for the first time, the princess stifles a yawn behind her hand, and so Bellamy takes pity on her as he grabs the motel key in his pocket. “I’m closing tonight. You should go to bed already,” he tells her as he drops the key next to her glass on the counter.

“Don’t act like I’m a child.”

Oh, he wouldn’t dare, all too painfully aware of the definitely _not_ childish curves her flower dress barely manages to conceal. Not that he would ever say that out loud, least he wants a slap from her, so he settles for a roll of the eyes – they do that a lot around each other, and sometimes he wonders how they still haven’t killed the other with the share amount of sarcasm and annoyance that exists between them.

“Believe me, I’m not. But you’re falling asleep on the spot and I don’t feel like carrying you all the way back.”

Been here, done that. She isn’t heavy, far from it, but his back was still aching the following day from carrying her sleeping form through town while she snored into his neck. Not an incident he’d like to happen again if he can help it.

The princess wrinkles her noise – either to the memory of her own weakness or to his ungentlemany behaviour, Bellamy isn’t quite certain – before she downs her apple juice and grabs the key with a purpose. Her feathers are so easily ruffled, sometimes Bellamy doesn’t even have to try, as she looks at him with defiance in her eyes and pride in the tilt of her chin. He wonders what she would look like, awake even in the dead of night and tipsy on cheap alcohol. Would she be like those women from earlier, too loud and too carefree, with an easy smile on her lips and hunger in her eyes? Somewhat, Bellamy can’t picture that in her. It might not be a bad thing.

She gives him a parting nod as she gathers her books, holds them close to her chest as she makes her way to the entrance door. It’s a small, quiet town, and the motel is just around the corner, yet Bellamy’s stomach churns at the idea that she could run into trouble that late at night. But he also knows that she can hold her own, that she was trained to kill men twice her size and weight – she’ll be alright.

So Bellamy focuses back on his job of serving and cleaning and serving again, until the clock above his head strikes three and he ushers the last patrons outside before closing the door behind him. His muscles are sore with exhaustion and too many an hour spent standing – his back hurting, his legs having seen better days – and so he drags himself down the streets and then up the stairs to their cheap, tiny motel room. As quiet as his heavy steps allow him, he sneaks inside, careful to wait a few seconds once he closes the door, for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Then he gets rid of his shoes and pants and moves towards the bed.

The princess stirs in her sleep when he sits next to her, moving just enough so that her voice isn’t muffled by the pillow against which her face is pressed. “Bellamy?” she asks in a whisper, voice heavy with sleep and eyes not opening.

“Yes, it’s me,” he replies just as softly, sneaking under the blankets next to her. “Go back to bed, Your Highness.”

She only emits a hum of agreement before she presses her face back to the pillow, her breathing deeper and even in a matter of seconds. Bellamy is soon to follow her into slumber, too tired to let his mind wander and his thoughts keep him awake tonight.

 

…

 

He tries, and mostly fails, not to eye the office too inquisitively. It is unlike the other offices they have visited before, when meeting with various professors in various universities. This one is open and bright where the others were stuffy, almost empty where the other were filled to the rim with shelves and books and too many pieces of furniture for too little space. It’s really basically just a desk and a computer, two notebooks and a pen sitting neatly next to it, and a bookshelf in the back. Pure. Empty.

The professor is a young woman whose name got lost on Bellamy the moment she introduced herself with a shake of the hand, but it’s not the most important anyway. Her (potential) knowledge is.

Bellamy is startled by a kick in the shin, and so his eyes leave the only poster on the wall – something about the opera – to glare at the princess sitting in the chair next to him. Her legs are crossed at the ankles and her hands rest softly above a notebook on her lap, a smile on her lip as she chats away with the other woman. It comes so easily to her, the politeness and the clever discussions, that he lets her lead the conversation more often than not. Still, his focus would be appreciated, if the way she kicked his shin is anything to go by, so he looks back to the professor in front of them, sitting behind her desk with her arms folded on her chest. She looks casual about the conversation at head, like she’s used to talking about magic and parallel realms on a daily basis.

“Like I told you over the phone,” she tells them calmly, “I am an expert in the Wiccan religion. The kind of magic you’re talking about is nothing more than Harry Potter stuff.”

Harry Potter, the book about the kid with the glasses, Bellamy recites to himself. They’ve heard a lot about that bloody story since they started their researches. He’s yet to put his hands on a single one of those books, but Bellamy already hates them with a burning passion. On principle.

(The princess scribbles down “wiccan???” on her notebook before looking up again. If she had glasses, it would be the moment she pushes them up her nose.)

“As for the parallels universes? That is way out of my field of expertise.”

The princess isn’t one to give up easily, though. “By _in theory_ , would such a thing be possible? Curses and dark magic?”

“Yes. Without a doubt, yes. Most kinds of magic draw their strength from either the Earth or higher spirits, but that magic can be good or bad, depending of what you do with it.”

“So cursing an entire kingdom could be possible, in theory?”

“ _In theory_ , yes. But that’s not what you’re really asking me, miss, is it now?”

The princess purses her lips, not even trying to hide how upset she feels in that moment. They’ve been walking on eggshells ever since they met with the first professor, a few months back, knowing fully well no one from the Land Without Magic would believe them if they started talking about, well, magic. They can’t just go around telling stories of Dark Curses and Saviors and what-have-you without ringing a few alarm bells along the way.

“And what about the parallel realms?” she asks then, probably figuring it isn’t worth the try.

The professor shakes her head. “Suppositions, nothing more. A few scientists have theories on the subject, but nothing is even close to being proven at that point. And it’s obviously not within my domain of expertise.”

The princess purses her lips once more, and shares a glance with Bellamy. All he needs is the tiniest shake of the head for her to understand the silence message he’s conveying – they don’t need to dwell on it all day, nothing useful will come out of this meeting anyway. As always. So the princess replies with an equally discreet nod before she focuses back on the professor in front of her with her brightest, most polite grin.

“Well, thank you for accepting to this meeting and for giving us some of your time, Professor.”

The woman smiles, although sadly, like she wished she had given them the answers they came here for. Which is a nice thought, even if a worthless one. She stands up and holds her hand out for them to shake, which they do with more nice smiles and polite nods.

“Listen,” she tells them as she goes for the door to her office. “I don’t know what you are looking for, and why. But you seem to believe in it, whatever it is, so I do hope you can find the answers you’re looking for.”

They thank her again, even more so when she gives them the contact information from another professor in another university, saying he might help where she didn’t.

The princess throws it away the moment they are outside, knowing fully well this professor isn’t going to be of any help either – they visited his office not a month ago, after all. Then she looks up to Bellamy, eyes sad and empty and a little wet, and he squeezes her shoulder in what he hopes to be a comforting way. There’s nothing much else he can do, at this point.

 

…

 

They move west in the summer. Long hours spent on uncomfortable buses, as they go through the notes they’ve taken of their readings and meetings with professors – they know them all by heart now, but it never stops them for scanning the pages one more time, for hoping this time it will help them find the missing piece to their mystery.

The bus stops in the middle of nowhere to fill its tank, and the princess wanders around while Bellamy goes inside the little shop to buy some snacks to keep them going until the night. He keeps glancing her way while he waits in line, the way she stretches out her arms to walk on a small wall, careful not to lose her balance and fall. She looks so young sometimes, a reminder to Bellamy that she is indeed young, barely a year older than Octavia.

He grabs the plastic bag and then strides back outside, only needing one shared glance with the princess for her to jump off the wall and follow him back to the bus. He holds his hand out to her so she can climb inside, and then follow her back to their seats. They munch on their sandwiches in peaceful silence as the bus crosses the country, and then share more theories before the princess’s eyelids grow heavier.

The sun is still high in the sky when she falls asleep on Bellamy’s shoulder, and he barely dares moving least he jolts her awake. With careful movements, he grabs a book in his backpack, some random novel they found in some random motel room, and starts reading to busy himself with something.

He’s deep in the story when someone taps on his other shoulder, and he turns his head to a smiling old lady holding a box of cookies out to him. “Do you want some?” she asks softly, and he can only smile back at the small gesture.

“Yes, thank you,” Bellamy replies as he grabs one of the treats.

The old lady shakes the box a little, the cookies rattling against the metal. “Take one for your little lady too. You two look so adorable together.”

Bellamy flushes at the underlying meaning behind her words, but the princess is still asleep on his shoulder, fingers wrapped around his forearm, and he doesn’t find it in himself to correct the old lady on her mistake. What would he say, anyway? That they’re nothing but friends? That they come from another realm and he would never dream to court her because she’s his future ruler? Even without that, she’s so out of his league it’s a little pathetic at that point? No, he can’t say such things.

So he takes another cookie, his smile a little tighter, and thanks the old lady once more before going back to his reading. If he looks down to the princess and sighs softly, well, no one is there to witness it. A kitchen boy can dream, after all, it was never forbidden. And so, with such thoughts in mind, he adjusts his posture even so slightly so the princess’s head won’t fall down his shoulder, and focuses back on the book in his hand.

He reads for a few more hours, until the sky is dark outside the bus’s window and his eyes hurt from trying to decipher the words with only the lights from the front of the bus. He gives up after a while and lets his head fall back against the seat, closing his eyes even if he forces himself not to sleep. They will arrive soon, anyway, and he’d rather be tired than groggy from a too short nap. It can only help with his mood, after all.

They soon arrive to their destination anyway, and then Bellamy is delicately rousting the princess from her sleep. Even without the lights on, she blinks up at him with confusion in her eyes, apparently lost as to where she is. Then realisation downs on her, and she sighs before she bents forwards to grab her backpack by her feet. He helps her up and then out the bus, fingers around her elbow for she’s still half-asleep, and so not walking perfectly straight.

Once on the side of the road, he shares a tight-lipped smile with that same old lady from before – obviously charmed by his gentleman manners, mind you – before he grabs their travel bag from the bus’s hold and drags the princess along to find shelter for the night. She all but drools on his chest as he deals with the woman behind the desk and pays for one night, rolling his eyes as the woman smiles knowingly at the scene, at his arm carefully wrapped around the princess’s waist. That is two people in one day, which makes it two people too much.

Thankfully, the princess missed them both, and is deep in sleep when he tucks her under the covers of their bed for the night. He puts their bags in a corner and double-checks the door is indeed locked before he shrugs off his shoes, shirt and pants, follows her into the bed, and then sleep.

 

…

 

They find a studio to rent in some nameless town by the sea, a job in a bar to pay the bills, and more sand in their shoes that they know what to do with. The princess seems happier by the sea, laughing when the waves lick at her bare feet and drench the hem of her sundresses, smiling as she tilts her head to the sun and lets the wind blow in her hair. Bellamy can’t say that he minds, loving the way her lips curve even when she doesn’t mean too, and the pink that becomes permanent on the tip of her nose and ears.

His skin turns darker too, darker than it already was, and Bellamy can’t say he minds either. They’ve been travelling, searching, for months now, and they finally allow themselves a well-deserved break before they grow mad – of each other or of their own minds, only time could tell. It’s only a week or two, just to breathe and sleep, before they move south to the big universities they’ll find there, move south and hope those professors will be more helpful than their colleagues from the east.

(Doubtful, but Bellamy knows better than to voice such a thought. One the princess shares, it is written all over her delicate features, but if they keep it silent, they can still pretend to have hope in their quest.)

The bar where he works closes on Sunday, and so he has no excuse as to refuse to spend the day at the beach with the princess, smiling softly as she shoves sandwiches, bottles of water and sugary snacks in her backpack with more determination that is asked of the task. She went shopping yesterday, now sporting a dress so long the hem brushes against her ankles and so thin it leaves little to the imagination as to the bathing suit she wears underneath. Bellamy’s throat goes dry as he forces himself not to stare at the swell of her breasts or the little bows holding the bathing suit together at her hips – she’ll be the death of him one day, but there are worse way to go.

She bought him a bathing suit too, the piece of clothing doubling as short pants, as well as a thinner shirt for him to wear in the sun. Very considerate of her, all things considered, even if he has no idea how she learnt his clothing size. He doesn’t linger on such a thought, though, instead grabs the backpack and follows her outside the apartment.

It’s a short journey to the beach, followed by hours of lounging in the sun and walking on the sand, waves lapping at their feet softly. It is all so nice that Bellamy could almost forget why they are here in the first place, forget it all about their impossible quest. If he closes his eyes, he can almost picture it  – spending the summer here with her, powering on lazy days and juicy fruits, watching the sun set in the horizon and brushing the sand off her shoulders. It all sounds so idyllic, so far from the reality of their lives, that Bellamy allows himself such a beautiful fantasy, if only for a few minutes.

“Something is happening tomorrow,” she tells him when they’re both sitting in the sand, munching on their food as they watch the sun disappear into the sea.

“The bar is closed tomorrow,” he adds, perhaps just to prove he knows, too. “Some kind of national holiday or party of sorts.”

She nods pensively, and they both share the same thought – no matter how long they’ve been living in this realm, its customs are still foreign to them, forever will be perhaps. They will always be strangers, here, will never be able to make it their home. Not that they’re planning to, anyway, but it is beside the point.

It is only the following day, when Bellamy sees the blue and red flags announcing the fourth of July, that he remembers having indeed read about that date and how important it is to the country they’re currently in. Time passes strangely for them, a blur of long days and longer bus rides, so it does come as a surprise that this holiday is today of all days – how long have they been here? Does it really matter?

There is a party on the beach all through the day, with a bonfire and steaks cooking on a large barbecue, children screaming and running around, men acting like big stuffs around said fires and women speaking in groups of four or five. Bellamy and the princess are strangers in such a crowd, but an old lady thanks them for bringing the two bottles of juice they bought that morning as an after-thought, and soon they find themselves sitting on the sand with hot dogs in their hands.

The princess wrinkles her nose at a toddler eating mouthfuls of sand not far from them, and Bellamy can only laugh. She is used to grand balls and expensive gowns, not to the simplicity of parties thrown by commoners – Bellamy feels more at home here than she does, and it makes for a strange moment when she glares his way as if daring him to mock her. He never would (not openly, at least) so he shakes his head and rolls his eyes, and soon a tentative smile appears on her lips.

At some point, Bellamy can’t even recall how, a bunch of children come near them with toothy grin and curious eyes. There is one girl, dark hair and blue eyes, who reminds him of Octavia so much his heart can barely takes it, and Bellamy leans towards her, asking in a fake whisper if she would like to hear a story. She nods all too eagerly, and so Bellamy sits a little straighter as he throws himself into the tale of Marian and the Merry Men, adding funny voices and expressive hand gestures to make his words more lively.

Most of the kids have gathered around them by the time he’s done with the story, clapping cheerfully and asking for more, and so he does just that – stories of Snow White, of the warrior Mulan, of Zelena’s greed. The children are enraptured by his words, but not as much as the princess. She hugs her legs to her chest, chin propped up on her knees, and listens with a soft smile on her lips and even softer look in her eyes, even if she must have heard the tales a hundred times when she was a wee girl.

They go back to their studio only when all the parents have dragged their offspring away from the beach, with no small amount of kicking and complaining from Bellamy’s young audience. The princess takes a shower first, leaving steam on the mirrors and the bottle of shampoo opened when Bellamy steps into the bathroom after her. Scrubbing the sand off his skin takes longer than expected, but the cold water is a delight on his back and shoulder, washing away the exhaustion along with the dirt.

He slips into a pair of shorts and a simple shirt before he goes back to the main room, only to find the princess preparing a simple meal of tomatoes and cucumbers fresh out of the farmer’s market – probably the top of her culinary skills, but Bellamy doesn’t mind being the one cooking every night after she almost burnt down the entire place trying to make what was supposed to be scrambled eggs.

They’re settling in for the night, she reading through their notes once more, he reading the end of his novel, when a loud sound startles them both and has them share alarmed looks. She’s the fastest one to scramble to the window, Bellamy’s feet barely touching the floor when her gasp fills the room, soon followed by another one of those loud sounds.

“Bellamy! Come and see!”

He does just that as she opens the window, leaning forwards to see better. She moves to the side when he comes near her, just in time to see the next set of fireworks exploding in the sky with reds and yellows. She gasps again, the sound happy and excited, and he can only smile at that, at how carefree she looks all of a sudden, the weight of the world no longer on her shoulders.

It doesn’t last – it never does – and when the show is over and Bellamy looks down at her once more, it’s to find tears pearling at the corners of her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. Alarmed and concerned, he puts a hand on her arm for her to look at him. “Are you alright?” he asks, even if he knows she’s anything but.

She shakes her head with a sad little smile. “It’s silly, I just – I miss home so much. There were always fireworks for my birthday.”

Bellamy says, “Ah,” and nothing else, because he has no idea how to comfort a crying girl, let alone a crying homesick princess. So he presses his lips into a thin line, thinking as fast as possible, racking his brains for something to say. The words tumble out of his mouth before he has time to think them twice. “Raven almost burnt down the entire castle for your sixteen birthday.”

Which may not be the best story he has in store, not to mention Raven may kill him if she ever learns he told the story to one of the royals after they all swore to keep the incident between them. But the princess is looking at him with wide eyes, and the tale is too entertaining not to share, even more so if it is enough of a distraction for the tears to stop falling.

“She wanted the fireworks to be even more beautiful, since it was your coming-of-age birthday,” he explains. “You know how she is with those things, always trying to enhance what is already working perfectly well. Anyway, she did try to play with the fireworks, to do gods know what. Long story short, Wick came along, and they started bickering about the details, and she got so upset at him that she lit up one of the rockets to prove him wrong. Right in the middle of the kitchens.”

The princess presses a hand to her mouth so her fingers tone down the laugh bubbling out of her mouth – even with the social difference between royals and the downstairs crowd, Raven’s rocky relationship with Wick, the castle’s blacksmith, is known of all. She even shares a friendship of sorts with the princess, if Octavia’s words are anything to go by.

“How have I never heard of this?”

“Well, it set a little fire in the kitchens, and we spent the best of the afternoon cleaning everything so nobody would notice the burnt wood. Raven was forbidden from ever touching the fireworks again, and Wick from starting a fight with her indoors. Oh, and one of Nathan’s eyebrow burnt, too, so he pretended to be bed-ridden until it grew back because he couldn’t bear for Monty to see him that way.”

She’s openly laughing now, and Bellamy stands a little straighter as pride surges through his veins at the way her eyes crinkle at the corners. He may get into trouble with Raven in a somewhat near future, but it will be worth it.

The princess doesn’t thank him for the tale, not in so many words at least, but when they finally settle in bed for the night, she nudges his ankle with her cold toes, and perhaps it is enough as far as thanks go.

 

…

 

“Bellamy!”

He looks up from the cocktail he’s serving – he can never get them quite right, no matter how hard he tries, and it needs all his attention – to find the princess entering the bar in a hurry, coming to stand right in front of him by the other side of the counter. The girl he’s serving arches an eyebrow, and here goes his tip, but he doesn’t find it in himself to care when the princess’s eyes are so blue and wide and sparkling. She has a piece of paper in her hand, one she too happily brandishes in front of his face, and he has to hold a finger for her to stop for a second so he can do his job properly.

The girl glares at him as she takes the glass from his hand and, yes, she’s definitely tipping him poorly after that. Whatever.

“What is it?” he asks as he focuses back on the princess.

“Good news!” she replies as she all but shoves the piece of paper in his hands.

They set up an e-mail address not so long after truly understanding how computers work, if only to contact all those professors they visited through the months. It’s not something they use often, but the princess shakes it regularly from libraries’ computers in hope someone will contact them and help with their quest. Which is exactly what happened, if the printed e-mail on the piece of paper is anything to go by.

It comes from one Maya Vie, who introduces herself as a college graduate working on a thesis about myths and fairytales, having heard of them from her thesis advisor. She says their story intrigues her, and that she may have information that could interest them. Bellamy arches an eyebrow as that.

“What kind of information could she have that her professor hasn’t?” he asks, always one for pessimism.

“I don’t know, but she doesn’t live far and she wants to meet. What’s there to lose?”

What, indeed, which is why they take a bus to Berkeley the following weekend, after a few more e-mails exchanged. If anything else, this Maya Vie sounds nice, so at least it would make for a useless but pleasant trip if her information turns out to be useless to them.

She waits for them at the bus station, bouncing on her feet a little too eagerly to Bellamy’s liking, and smiling brightly when she recognizes them in the crowd of travellers. She’s all grins and kind eyes when she walks towards them, and Bellamy is relieved when the princess’s body tenses at the sight of the brunette girl. At least, and after all, he isn’t the only weary one of the two.

The girl holds out a hand for the princess to shake, which she does carefully.

“Hello, I’m Maya. And you must be the Savior.”

Bellamy’s jaw goes slack.


	3. Chapter 3

The apartment is small, providing as little comfort as the studio they just left. Nothing but the bare minimum – a bed to sleep and kitchen to eat, a bathroom and wardrobe – yet Bellamy takes it all in as he sits at the small table with the princess by his side. Each and every detail, his eyes scan, looking for proofs and clues as to this Maya’s true identity. She had only said ‘I’ll explain everything in private’ before leading them away from the bus station and towards her home.

And here they are now, waiting for her to indeed explain. She’s making tea for them, in a set of delicate porcelain more beautiful and expensive than anything else within those four walls, cookies and little cakes in a complementary plate on the side. If she feels the inquisitive pairs of eyes on her, Maya doesn’t show, instead humming to herself as she waits for the kettle to whistle and cuts thin slices of lemon.

Despite her excitement only days before, the princess now seems as wary of the little brunette as Bellamy feels, and he still hasn’t decide if it is a good thing or not. Surely, there is advantage in sharing the same opinion, but he liked it better when she was smiling and happy, so far from the frown pulling on her forehead ever since Maya introduced herself to them.

Bellamy can almost hear the princess’s thoughts for she screams them so loudly, searching for Maya’s identity in the Enchanted Forest. Because she is from their realm alright, there is no denying it – her knowledge of the princess’s title enough proof of that. Friend or foe, though, it is impossible to tell yet, and it leaves them both on their guards, not knowing what to expect of her. She seems inoffensive enough, and Bellamy could take her down were a fight to break, but it would prove itself useless if she turns out to be a sorceress of some kind.

Gods, he hopes she’s not a witch.

Seemingly unperturbed by both sets of glares on her neck, Maya turns around with a cup of tea in each hand, walking towards them so she can put both cups in front of them. She adds a, “Here you are, Your Highness,” for good measure, before she goes back to the kitchen to grab the third cup as well as the plate of biscuits. When she sits on a vacant chair around the table, she turns even so slightly so she faces the princess, Bellamy all but forgotten.

“Who are you?”

Ah, the princess, always so tactful. Not that Bellamy can blame her when the question has been burning on his tongue for the past twenty minutes or so. He needs the answer as much as she does, and misses his sword deeply – he is a guard, first and foremost, he swore to protect her.

Maya stares back at her for long seconds, lips pursed into a contemplative pout, before she stands up once more and moves to her wardrobe. She opens the door, only to pull some kind of cylindrical box out of it, one Bellamy doesn’t recognize. But, if her little gasp of surprise is anything to go back, the same thing can’t be said of the princess.

“Where did you get that?” she asks as Maya comes back to the table and puts the box on the fourth, empty, chair.

“It is mine,” she replies simply. “I’m the Hatter.”

Brain finally catching up with the conversation, Bellamy can only frown at Maya’s statement. He has heard the tales, of course, everybody has – that of the Hatter helping Rumplestiltskin and the Doctor, before turning to the Evil Queen. There are tales around the fireplace, from a far-away period in time; the thing of legends, the stories bards so like to sing about.

Noticing his confusion, as well as the princess’s, Maya goes on with her explanations. “The Hatter is a title, not a person. The hat is passed down from parent to sibling, the way it has been for centuries now. The Hatter you know is my ancestor. My mother was Hatter before me, and I took the hat after her death.”

Maya busies herself with a sip of hot tea, long enough for Bellamy to share a glance with the princess. His confusion matches that of her blue irises, both too careful to list Maya as a friend yet. None of the stories ever drew the Hatter as a hero, after all, and neither of them is ready to put such a title on the brunette, not until she has proven herself worthy of their trust.

“Why has no one ever heard of another Hatter through the years?”

Maya looks back to the princess calmly, even as she continues to talk. “We know of our ancestor’s stories. His mistakes are ones none of us wanted to repeat. Lord Cage searched for a very long while before he found my mother, with only legends and rumours to help him. He forced her to work for him. Everyone knows who his father is, so she had no other choice but to accept. She helped him travel between realms, and that’s how she learnt of the Curse he was looking for. She stayed by his side long enough to gather information about it, and then refused to keep using the hat. He killed her for it.”

The princess’s fingers twitch around the porcelain of the cup, as if wanting to reach for Maya’s hand but not daring to. When Bellamy closes his eyes, he can only see how glassy the King’s eyes were as he lied on the floor, warm blood pooling around him. Of course it would affect the princess, more than it does Bellamy – his own mother still alive, if cursed, his father nothing but a faceless shadow.

He’s the only reaching for her, finger wrapping around the flesh of her knee under the table. She sends him a look equally surprised and thankful, before dropping her own hand to her lap, fingers entwining with his softly. He squeezes in reassurance.

“She had told me all about the Curse before her death,” Maya goes on, unaware of the moment they shared. “I decided the best course of action was to go on with what my mother had started, so I used the hat to come to this realm and to wait for you to come through the wardrobe.”

“How did you know when or where I would come?”

Maya laughs softly, a little cold and a little self-conscious. “I didn’t. That’s the problem. I didn’t know, and I had no wait to go back. There is no magic here, I can’t make the hat work. So I waited, hoping I would come across a clue as to your presence here. When my professor told me about two people asking weirdly specific questions about magic, I knew it was you.”

“And so you found us.”

“I did,” Maya agrees with a nod.

The princess’s fingers tighten their hold around Bellamy’s hand, only clue as to her true feelings even when her face gives away nothing. She isn’t as peaceful as she seems, Maya’s story leaving her confused and pensive, and Bellamy knows they need some time alone to discuss things and plan out their next move. Doing so without raising Maya’s suspicions seems like an impossible task, though.

“What else do you know about the Curse?” the princess asks anyway, never one to back down from a confrontation. It is a smart move too – they might as well learn as much as possible from Maya while they can, especially if they find her to be a threat to their success.

“Only that time is frozen over people who are cursed, they won’t age as long as the Curse isn’t broken. And, of course, that you are the only one who can break it, Savior.”

The title seems to make the princess uncomfortable, if the way her fingers squeeze his hand even more as she rolls her shoulders is anything to go by. They haven’t talked about it yet, not when all their thoughts were focused on finding their people first, but Bellamy isn’t an idiot – he guessed she has no idea how to break the Curse a long time ago, and that this responsibility weights on her even more than she likes to show.

“Do you know where my people are?”

Maya opens her mouth in reply, but no word comes out of it. Instead, she looks confused for a moment, before her eyebrows shoot up in realisation. “That’s why you’re been traveling around? You don’t know?”

A growl gets stuck at the back of Bellamy’s throat, as he stands straighter in his chair, not liking in the least the mocking edge of Maya’s voice. Or perhaps disbelief? At least not respectful enough for Bellamy to like it. The princess must sense how drawn his every muscles are all of a sudden – she’s yet to let go of his hand and damn him if he will the one to back away first – for she glances his way with the tiniest shake of the head. An order as any, and so he forces himself not to move, not to react at Maya’s insolence.

The girl tries for a more serious face, but the ghost of a smile dances at the corners of her lips and it takes all of Bellamy’s willpower to stand still. His muscles almost ache from how taut they are, but he knows better than to go against an order from his princess.

“Where did you land? Because wherever it is, you people mustn’t be far.”

The princess almost breaks her neck from how fast she turns it to look at him, eyes widening and mouth open on a wordless sentence. They both remember the town, little and quaint, and the policemen who had not so warmly welcomed them to the Land Without Magic. He can still picture the bed and breakfast where they had spent the night, the station where they had waited for a bus to take them out of town but… But no name, of course. They were still lost, disoriented, not caring about the details yet.

But there is something, nagging him at the back of his mind, something that tells him he knows, he always has, he just needs…

“Your shirt!”

He’s on his feet before the princess even has time to react, reaching for their bags by the door. He almost rips hers open in his hast, and then furiously rummages through it until his fingers wrap around the soft cotton of the worn, grey shirt. He pulls it out with a tug and, when he looks back to the princess, sees recognition in her eyes.

She reaches for both their cups of tea only seconds before he pulls the shirt down on the table, flatting it with the palm of his hand. The logo is there, in fading black ink but still readable – Police Department, and then in smaller letters, Bluemont, Virginia.

“Huh,” the princess says from the back of her throat. Such a usual noise from her that Bellamy can only grin down at her – or perhaps it is the fact that they are so close, closer than they’ve ever been. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter when she beams up at her, fingers wrapping around his wrist and eyes shining with a newfound happiness.

“Bluemond, Virginia it is, then!” Maya says.

As if sharing a brain, they both turn to look at her in perfect synch. Neither of them finds it in them to tell her she is not going, though, not when bliss surges through their veins and the brunette is looking at the princess with hope in her eyes.

 

…

 

Maya insists they take the plane instead of the bus to travel from one coast to another and, even if they are wary at the idea and the prices, there is no valid reason as to say no. Bellamy is tired of bus rides anyway, and he can see in the princess’s restlessness that she can’t wait to be back to her people. Money won’t matter once they’re reunited with the others anyway, so they do buy the plane tickets, and take a taxi to the airport the following day.

(The night is as awkward as can be, the princess sharing the bed with Maya while Bellamy is relegated to the floor for the first time in so many months. They’re yet to spend more than a couple of minutes alone, and it weights down on the princess as much as he does him.)

No one bats an eye when they present their fake papers to the airport’s security, and Bellamy smirks at the princess’s sigh of relief once she puts her shoes back on and grabs her bag. She keeps close to him as they walk toward the gate where their plane waits, and the way her knuckles keep brushing against his with each step they take drives him crazy, slowly but surely. She’s almost been attached to his hip even since Maya joined them on their quest and he can’t even find it in himself to enjoy it when he knows it comes from a position of discomfort and mistrust, when she clings to him like he’s the only one who has her back.

(He is, but it is neither here nor there.)

Maya keeps giving them those glances, like there is a question on the tip of her tongue that she doesn’t want to ask, and it reminds him of the old lady with the cookies, reminds him of all the disappointed looks women threw his way when he leant over the counter to talk with the princess. He wants to tell Maya she is wrong, but he also really doesn’t, because it’s the most comfortable the princess has been around him and he doesn’t want to spook her.

He sits in an uncomfortable metal chair, the princess settling next to her, as their wait to board their plane, and Maya disappears all of a sudden with a few words about buying coffee or something. As soon as she’s out of sight, the princess twists in her seat to face him, legs bent beneath her.

“I don’t trust her.”

He laughs, deep and loud. “Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.”

She punches him lightly, her little wrist doing nothing when it collides with his arm. It’s the thought that counts, probably. “I’m serious. We can’t trust her.”

Bellamy isn’t exactly certain they became a _we_ , but he loves the sound of it. Hates himself for loving it so much. “I know. And we won’t. We don’t need to run anything by her anyway.”

The princess nods, a little thoughtfully, before her eyes dart to the screen above their heads. Boarding hasn’t started yet, and it only announces the destination of their flight, but she still smiles tenderly at it.

“We’re so close,” she says. Doesn’t need to say more.

He wants to take her hand again, but forces himself not to. They’re so close and soon she’ll break the Curse. Soon she’ll be back to her family and her fiancé, his ring still on her finger, and he’ll be back to Octavia and being a member of the guard. Soon life will be back to the way it was, and they’ll be back to being barely more than strangers to each other. The way it was, the way it’s supposed to be.

He can’t afford to get attached.

(He’s more than halfway there.)

“You’ll be back to your family soon, princess.”

She tilts her head at him, confusion dancing in her eyes at the clipped tone of his voice. They’ve gotten good at reading each other through the months, secondary effect of spending so much time together, but he refuses for her too read the emotions in his eyes. It would only complicate things, and they can’t afford for her to get distracted by a kitchen boy’s puppy love when she is destined to grander deeds.

Maya chooses that moment to come back, juggling three paper cups of steaming coffee in her hands. She offers one to both of them before plopping in the seat by Bellamy’s other side. He smirks a little when the princess sniffs at her drink with a little face, and makes a point of taking a long sip just to rile her up a bit. Ruffling her feathers is easy, he can do that.

She wrinkles her nose at him before take a sip of her drink, and they fall into an easy silence until boarding starts and they all stand up to enter the plane. Without a word or even needing to clarify details, they let the princess have the seat by the window, Bellamy sitting in the middle so that a catfight doesn’t start when they’re halfway through the flight. Maya doesn’t seem to mind, anyway, shrugging off her jacket before she sits next to Bellamy.

Even with her nose pressed to the window, the princess gulps audibly when the plane starts, and reaching for her hand feels all to natural. His thumb brushes against her knuckles as the plane takes off, her nails digging into the back of his hand and her teeth biting down on her bottom lip. She seems more at ease once the plane is in the air, though, going back to staring out the window at the landscape beneath them, and Bellamy spend the entire flight watching her, smiling when she turns around to point a mountain or a lake to him.

The landing is not too different from the take-off, with more handholding and lip nibbling, before they follow Maya out the plane and wait for the luggage to be brought to them. Washington’s bright afternoon sun winks at them once they’re outside the airport, waiting for a taxi to bring them downtown to the hotel rooms they booked the previous night off Maya’s computer.

Bellamy knows only one of the two rooms is a one-bed room, and damn him if he’s going to make sure Maya is the one to get it. In the end, he doesn’t even have to worry about it all that much, as the princess grabs one of the key cards and hands the second one to Maya with a little smile.

“We’ll meet for dinner later today?” she asks sweetly. Bellamy recognizes the tone as her princess voice, the one that means she won’t accept no for an answer, and you can go fuck yourself while you’re at it. He loves that voice, when it’s not used against him.

Maya has no other choice but to say yes, and they part ways in the corridor as they open the doors to their rooms. Theirs has only one bed in it, bless the gods, and Bellamy mentally slaps himself at the surge of joy when his eyes land on the mattress. Do not get attached, he chastises himself, like it could help.

They’ve done that a hundred times, though, so falling back into their routine is easy. The princess takes a shower first, and then he follows, smirking at the smiley face she drew on the shower’s door with her finger. When he gets out of the bathroom, in clean clothes and with his hair still a little wet, she’s lying in bed, eyes closed. He wonders if she’s asleep for a moment, until she lazily opens one lid to look at him.

“So close,” she whispers with wonder in her voice, and Bellamy beams at her. So close, indeed.

He falls head first on the bed next to her, groaning at how soft the mattress is – a clear improvement from the less than stellar motel rooms they’ve slept in lately. He has no doubt sleep will come easy to him tonight, and keeping his eyes open now is no easy feature. Still, they remain that way, not a word to break their comfortable silence, until Maya comes to knock softly on the door, asking if they are read to head down and eat something.

They opt for a little sushi shop down the street, stuffing themselves on rice and ram salmon and iced tea, before heading back to their hotel rooms for the night. The sky is not quite low in the sky yet, bright with the summer weather, and so Bellamy settles against the headboard with a book while the princess gets ready for the night.

When she comes back to the main room, it’s to sit cross-legged on the bed, facing him. He arches an eyebrow in silent question even if his eyes don’t leave the book, and she sighs a little.

“Tell me a story.”

Both eyebrows rise at the odd request, and he finally tears his eyes from the line he’s read four times in a row. He hasn’t used his storyteller skills since the celebrations of the Fourth of July, and didn’t know she had liked it so much. It had only been a mean to an end to keep a handful of children entertained, after all, and a way for him to compensate Octavia’s absence.

He puts the book aside and sits a little straighter against the headboard. “Which legend should I regal you with on this beautiful evening, Your Highness?”

Her lips twitch in a smile she swallows down. “Tell me of Emma.”

“Emma of Legends,” he echoes softly. “Hers is a captivating tale, Your Highness has good tastes.”

She doesn’t quite manage to hide her smile as his haughty voice this time, snorting through her nose as she finds a more comfortable position, and that more than anything else has Bellamy throwing himself into the tale. It’s a well-known one – she isn’t called Emma _of Legends_ for nothing, after all – and one Octavia loved to hear when she was a wee girl. So the words come easy to Bellamy as he tells the princess of the Evil Queen and the Curse she had wanted to cast, of Emma’s bravery through all of her adventures in all the lands, fighting dragons and befriending giants and traveling to Oz to defeat the Wizard himself.

Every step of her quest is an adventure in itself, until Bellamy tells of Emma’s final battle against the Evil Queen, White against Dark magic, hero against villain. Emma’s tale ends in victory, of the land finally free from the Queen’s dark power, and that is where Bellamy stops speaking, with the happy ending spreading over Mist Haven.

The princess wrinkles her nose at him. “You didn’t talk about Hook! It’s the best part and you didn’t talk about it!”

“There is absolutely no proof Captain Hook helped Emma on her quest!”

“There is and he did! He was her True Love, you know it!”

“It doesn’t matter.” She’s getting herself worked up over it, if the frown and the twist of her lips is anything to go by, but Bellamy only scoffs derisively at her. Her glare darkens as he adds, “It doesn’t make sense anyway.”

His blood is boiling in his veins – anger at her, at himself, at the world. Anger at his fool of a heart for falling so easily for her, for believing even of a second that she could feel the same, that something could happen between them. Bellamy shakes his head, at himself or her he isn’t sure, before he sneers. “A princess falling for a commoner? A pirate? In which universe would it happen?”

She opens her mouth wordlessly but, whatever she is about to say, Bellamy refuses to hear it. He stands up in an instant, suddenly grateful he hasn’t changed into his night clothes yet, and grabs his wallet and the key card where they wait on the little desk opposite the bed.

“Where are you going?” she asks in her princess voice.

It only makes matter worse, and he forces himself not to look back at her as he makes his way to the door. “Out,” he replies in a bark. “Don’t wait for me.”

There is a sense of finality in the way the door slam behind him.

 

…

 

Finding a bar to crash is not the most difficult thing in the world. There is one just around the corner, and it is enough for Bellamy as he enters and goes straight to the counter to order a beer. It does nothing to cool his nerves as it settles warmly in his stomach, and the buzz of it is not enough to make him dizzy. So he down it quickly, and then switch to whiskey, hoping it will do the trick.

The alcohol burns his throat as he locks eyes with a pretty brunette by the other side of the bar. She’s tall, skinny and all sharp angles – the exact opposite of the princess sleeping in his bed. She’s perfect.

Flirting with her comes easily once he’s offered her a drink, Bellamy is used to sweet-talking the ladies when he stands by the other side of the bar. He leans into her and relished in the wideness of her pupils. Her laughs are a little forced and high-pitched, but Bellamy doesn’t care when he pulls her into a bruising kiss. Out of breath, lip swollen, she takes his hand and leads him outside. She doesn’t bother with a car or a taxi, just pulls him in a nearby alley and has her way with him.

Or Bellamy has his way with her, he doesn’t know anymore. He pushes her against the wall and fucks her with her long legs wrapped around his waist and his jeans at the ankles. She moans and pants in his neck and he doesn’t care if those sound faked too. Doesn’t care when he comes and sees white, biting down on her shoulder to swallow down a moaned name that definitely isn’t hers.

When he lets go of her, he feels like shit.

He doesn’t look back as she straightens her too short skirt and smoothes her too dark hair, doesn’t look back as he heads down the street. The clerk behind the counter glares at him when he enters the hotel’s hall. The sky is dark outside and the hotel silent as he makes his way to his floor and then his door, not even bothering quietening his steps. He fumbles with the key card until the light turns to green and he opens the door.

He smells like alcohol and sex and cigarette, and the princess glares at him like she means murder. He wants to feel ashamed, because it would be the right thing to do, but looking at her – in that damn grey shirt, hair falling down her shoulders, eyes wide with fury and concern and something else – upsets him once more. He locks himself in the bathroom, not caring that he’s running away from her like the coward he is.

He splashes some cold water on his face and looks up into the mirror to find her standing into the doorway, looking at him with wide eyes. She looks so pure, so innocent, and he adds this to the ever-growing list of reasons why he can never claim her as his. He isn’t worthy. Of her concern, of her love. Of her.

“You’ve been gone for hours,” she says softly, afraid speaking too loud will have him snap and leave again. He hates himself even more for it.

“I told you not to wait for me.” A little too sharp, too cold.

“ _Hours_ , Bellamy. I thought –” She stops, shakes her head a little. “You can’t leave like that. I need you. The entire kingdom needs you.”

Stab him in the chest and twist the knife. Her words play on repeat in his head – _I need you I need you I need you_ – before he snaps out of it. She doesn’t mean it that way, she can’t mean it that way. She only needs him to help her break the Curse, help her fulfil her destiny. Nothing more, nothing his alcohol-induced brain would like to believe. She worries because he’s her ally in this, and because she is kind. Not even a friend, barely more than that, the princess worrying about her knight in rusty armour.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replies roughly, hoping against hope his words convey none of the underlying meaning he could pour into the sentence. But she draws in a sharp breath, and he may not have been all that successful at it. “Go back to bed, Your Highness.”

She eyes him carefully, perhaps afraid he’ll disappear again if she looks away, before stepping out of the bathroom and back to bed. He closes the door behind her before taking his second shower of the day to get rid off the stench of the city and nightlife clinging to his skin.

After slipping into his pyjamas, he hesitates for a long while by the side of the bed, wondering if the best course of action would be to sleep on the floor. He doesn’t want to, not with such a comfortable mattress and with the day they’ll have tomorrow, not when it may as well be the last time she sleeps by his side.

In the end, she chooses for him, invading his side of the bed to grab his wrist and pull her toward him. He stumbles a little before settling under the covers, careful never to brush against her. He’s all too aware of her slow intakes of breath, of the rustle of fabric against fabric with each movement of her body. Only exhaustion allows him to fall asleep, and even then his mind is restless with pictures of princesses and pirates and kisses that bring you back from the dead.

 

…

 

When he wakes up, mouth like cotton and brain heavy with a headache, the bed is empty by his side. He blinks against the morning sun even as his fingers brush against the mattress where her body should be, before he turns around with a groan. She stands close to the door, facing the mirror there as she holds her hair up and turns her head from side to side.

“We need to do something about my hair,” she says without even looking his way.

He frowns, which proves to be painful, and lets his head fall back against the pillow. He remains that way for a while, only listening as she moves around the room and gathers the few things they unpacked the previous night. He almost expects her to bring back yesterday’s mess once he finally forces himself to stand up and dress, but she proves to be skilled in the arts of deflecting, not mentioning it once. _I need you_ , she had said, and the words haunt him still, heavy on his mind and in the air between them.

Something has shifted. He can feel it, almost tangible, even if he has no word for it. So he decides to take the easy way out by ignoring it as he pulls on his pants and checks the bathroom to make sure they didn’t leave anything behind.

“What was it about your hair?” he asks as he zips close his travel bag.

“Cage knows what I look like. He will recognize me in an instant if I show up like this.” She gestures at her face, for good measure. “We can’t risk it.”

He gulps, Adam’s apple moving painfully up and down, before nodding. And, five minutes later, he finds himself in a little shop, buying a pair of scissors and a bottle of hair dye. They do it in the bathroom’s sink, his fingers massaging her scalp as the water turns brown and his heart plummets in his stomach. The first strand of hair is the hardest, and he watches it fall to the tiled floor with morbid fascination.

It gets easier after that, only making sure the length is even all around her head – something he has done with his sister more than once, when their mother was too busy to do it herself. Still, it doesn’t stop him for mourning her golden mane when she looks at him in the mirror, hair now a boring chestnut as it stops above her shoulders. It won’t stop Cage from recognizing her from up close, but it will give them some time as long as they stay away from it. It is all that matters.

They meet Maya downstairs for breakfast, the girl barely quirking an eyebrow at the princess’s new look before she pours herself a mug of coffee. Breakfast is a quiet affair, and then they’re heading outside to catch a taxi that will lead them out of town and to Bluemont. It will be a trek down the forest from there, so they all eat more than is necessary to gather some strength for the day.

The taxi ride is spent in much the same manner, Maya sitting next to the driver while Bellamy shares the back seat with the princess, an heavy silence settling between them that only the car’s radio breaks. Bellamy’s hand rests on the seat between them, hers only inches away. If he wanted, he could brush his little finger against hers, a wordless invitation to lace their fingers once again. He doesn’t, though, mind still reeling over the events of the previous night. Ever as she tries to pretend nothing happened, something is different between them now, and Bellamy curses himself for ruining the flimsy relationship they had built through the months.

Thankfully theirs isn’t that long a car ride, even if it leaves Bellamy’s wallet emptier than it was before, and soon their find themselves on the side of the road, facing familiar buildings. Nothing much changed since their first visit, not that Bellamy expected otherwise – flowers bloom by the windows and everything seems a little more colourful in the summer, but that’s basically it.

The princess leads the way out of town without a word, determination in her brows and her every step, so Bellamy simply shrugs at Maya before following her down the street. He’s not entirely convinced of the Hatter’s intentions yet, but she has picked up on their clues all morning, and he can only imagine how uncomfortable things must be for her, standing between the two of them.

They don’t meet the policemen this time, which is a relief in and out of itself, and soon find themselves under the shadows of the forest, walking between the trees in the same silent. Everything is familiar but also isn’t, and Bellamy wonders how long they’ll have to wander through the woods until they find what they’re looking for. With only their bags and little to set camp, it’s not as if they can afford to settle for the night and continue the following morning. They’re as unprepared as can get, the map they snatched unhelpful as hell, and Bellamy curses the princess’s stubbornness, knowing fully well there is no changing her mind now, no turning around and heading back to town again.

They only stop once, the sun high in the sky and hot on their skins, and only because Bellamy forces the princess to take a break with a hand to her arm. They munch on sandwiches and gulp down water before starting back with steel in their legs and a weight on their chests. Every tree looks like the last, making it impossible to exactly pinpoint the place where the wardrobe sent them – not for a lack of trying from the princess, of course.

He falls into step with Maya at some point, and has a newfound respect in her because her legs are tiny but she keeps up with him anyway. They settle into a quiet conversation, voice a little parched from not using it for a few hours, talking about her position as Hatter and the realms she travelled to, talking about the latest news in the kingdom before an orange cloud came and ruined everything. Bellamy isn’t good at politics, knew absolutely nothing about it up until becoming a member of the guard, but working in the kitchens come with its handful of gossips so he tells her about that – weddings and alliances and wars that were brewing in the distance.

Maya is in the middle of a sentence about Oz when she stops, words dying on her tongue, as her head snaps to the left. “Do you feel that?” she asks, low enough that the princess stops in her track and turns around, faces them for the first time since lunch.

“Feel what?” Bellamy asks, because her lips are set into a straight line and he knows she won’t ask if he doesn’t.

“ _Magic_.”

He doesn’t know what she means – if it’s a smell or a noise or just a feeling – but Maya is the one who’s been around magic the most, so he guesses they can trust her on that one. Have no other choice but to trust her on that one, actually, as she darts to the left, following the trail of whatever she found out all of a sudden. The princess raises both her eyebrows but doesn’t comment as she follows Maya between the trees.

Bellamy fumbles a little with the map as he tries to open it while walking, and he makes a mess of things before he indeed manages to opens it on the section of woods they’re wandering. There is nothing around according to the map, beside a single road a few miles north. No village, no town, absolutely no sign of human life.

Officially, there is nothing on the map. Doesn’t make the town they stumble upon any less true, though. There is a road leading to it, one that stretches to the north, probably to join the road Bellamy saw on the map. Maya raises her hand in the air, as if to touch something that is not here, right next to a sign that reads ‘Welcome to Arkadia’.

Bellamy blinks. Twice.

The town is still here.

“We made it,” the princess whispers, with no small amount of wonder in her voice. She looks exhausted but happy, a lazy smile blossoming on her lips as she tugs a strand of brown hair behind her ear. She glances up at Bellamy and her smiles turns into a grin, too dazzling for him not to mirror it.

They made it, indeed.

She takes his hand, very much on purpose, and tugs on his arm until he follows her down the road. He looks behind his shoulder, to make sure Maya is following too. She disappears from his sight for a second before she appears again, as if walking through some kind of invisible curtain. It leaves him confused, but then again it also doesn’t, because that was the magic she felt, the one she tried to touch. The magic cloaking the town from the rest of the world, even if Bellamy has no idea why it allowed them to enter. He decides now is not the time to think about the specifics.

The town is no different from Bluemont, the same kind of low buildings, flowers on the windows and cars parked in the street. There is a peaceful feeling to the place that brings a shiver down his spine, though, something a little off and not exactly right. The princess must feel it too, if the way she tightens her hold around his hand is anything to go by. He brushes his thumb against her knuckles before nodding to what looks like a diner.

The sign flickers in blue and red neon, reading The Dropship in round letters, and their stomachs come to life at the sight of it. They’ve been walking for hours and the sun is low in the sky; food will be more than welcome as they plan for their next move.

The dinner is unlike the one they visited through the months. It has a retro vibe to it, alright, but there are posters of space on the walls, planets and nebulas and stars, and everything looks like it’s out of a science-fiction movie. Weird, and surprising, but Bellamy doesn’t let it affect him. The princess chooses a booth in the middle of the room, and he slides in next to her while Maya sits on the opposite bench and busies herself with the menu.

The back door leading to the kitchens opens loudly, and Bellamy looks up to the sound, eyes widening immediately. He nudges the princess with his elbow before pointing to the girl walking toward a table, juggling with four different plates. Her dark hair is pulled into a high ponytail, sleeves of her red jacket bundled up at the elbows and feet clad in army boots.

The princess bounces in her seat and beams at the sight of her, at the glory that is Raven, in the flesh in front of them. Bellamy feels like sighing in relief, and crying a bit too perhaps, because this is it. This is real, this is their kingdom in this little town in the middle of nowhere.

“What can I get you?” Raven asks as she nears the table.

The princess and Bellamy are so busy staring at her, it takes them long second to react. Long enough that the front door opens with a bang, the little bell ringing furiously as a group enters the dinner and invades the table by the window.

“Feet off the table!” Raven barks at them immediately, like she’s done it a hundred times before. Then she adds, under her breath, “Fucking Grounders.”

Bellamy turns around, both out of curiosity and to follow the stream of heated discussions and heavy laughs. A black man, tattoos on his neck and down his arms, wraps his arms around a girl’s waist to pull her into his lap even as she’s in the middle of an argument with another woman. She laughs, the sound loud and rich, and brushes her long black hair away from her face.

His heart plummets in his stomach.

“Octavia…”


	4. Chapter 4

Bellamy can’t stop staring.

He knows what he must look like right now, an adult man staring at a teenager girl, unable to look away. Raven, still standing next to their table, is starting to fidget and growing more suspicious by the second – no doubt wondering what kind of creep he is and if she should call the cops on him. Still, Bellamy can’t look away, because it is his baby sister right there, the baby sister he hasn’t seen in months and thought he would never see again.

She is such a sharp contrast to her old self that it takes his breath away. Gone is the little girl with frilly skirts, chasing butterflies in the castle’s gardens. She looks older now, tougher – light fabrics replaced by combat boots and leather jacket, silver rings around her fingers and complementary bracelets at her wrists. She makes quite the sight, and Bellamy refuses to even take into account the buff of a man whose lap she currently sits on – it doesn’t do well dwelling on such matters.

Maya clears her throat by the other side of the table, and orders hamburgers and beers for the three of them. Even as she leaves their table to go back to the kitchens, Raven keeps glaring at Bellamy, her stare heavy on the back of his neck. Curse or not, some things never change, least of them Raven’s fiery temper.

Or the princess’s empathy. She wraps her fingers around Bellamy’s forearm, leans closer to him so she can whisper in his ear without anybody else hearing the words. “She’s with Lexa,” is all she says.

Bellamy averts his eyes and, indeed, he recognizes Queen Alexandra sitting at the end of the table. She looks regal as ever, even with the dark, heavy clothes and even darker, heavier makeup around her eyes. Bellamy never met her in the flesh before today, but she was quite the talk in the castle a couple of years ago – she and the princess were quite the talk, gossips and rumours of more than friendship between the two royals. And, if the princess’s soft tone right now is anything to go by, perhaps the gossips were not as unwarranted as he thought them to be. Not that it would be his place to judge, anyway.

He turns around in his seat once more, forcing himself not to look above his shoulder. Maya sends him a sad, little smile, to which he replies with a clear-cut “Sister.” She opens a mouth a little, a soft ‘ah’ breathed out, and it occurs to him it would have been easy to mistake Octavia for his lover or betrothed – they barely look alike, his skin darker, her features sharper. It would be a logical, albeit awkward, mistake to make, especially since he is old enough to be engaged, or even married.

He shakes that thought away as Raven comes back with their plates. She eyes him suspiciously, to which Bellamy replies with a tight-lipped smile. Her glare deepens, and Bellamy forces himself not to cackle. Gods, he had missed her, and everyone else.

Next to him, the princess pounces on her hamburger like she hasn’t eaten in three weeks. They walked all day long, after all, and the slim sandwiches they had for lunch barely were enough to keep them going, so Bellamy goes at it too. The beer is cold in his throat but settles warmly in his stomach and that, along with the knowledge that his sister is all right, manages to ease his nerves a little. There is still the question of how to break the curse and defeat Cage but, for the first time in a very long while, Bellamy feels optimistic. It won’t last, probably, so he savours it while he can.

They savour their hamburgers, too, in a comfortable silence only broken by the booming laugher and easy chatter of the group of people behind him. Bellamy elects not to focus on their discussions, and instead watches in amusement as the princess huffs every time a loose strand of hair fall in front of her eyes. The hair colour looks off, and doesn’t really suit her, but her annoyance is still entertaining to him. Especially since he can’t swallow down a low chuckle when she sighs for the umpteenth time as she tugs a strand back behind her ear. She glares at him, but there is a smudge of sauce on her upper lip and her hair falls back in front of her eyes immediately, so the effect is lost on him.

What isn’t lost on him is the kick in the shin she offers him.

He glares back, and she smiles innocently, then proudly when he rolls his eyes. And, all right, perhaps they are acting like children right now, but the group’s morale is high tonight so they’re allowed to celebrate, in their own way.

He ignores the twinkle of curiosity in Maya’s eyes because, well.

Raven comes back to their table not ten minutes after their plates have been cleansed of food, with a wary glance Bellamy’s way. He replies with his most innocent smile, knowing fully well the group left half an hour prior anyway. Raven glares some more, before a professional smile settles on her lips as she looks to the princess and Maya.

“Do you guys need anything else?”

Maya shakes her head, “Just the bill, please.”

Raven nods and, in a sway of her ponytail, goes back behind the counter. It is hard to keep his eyes off her, after so many years of her wearing unflattering skirts, flour on her hair and grease beneath her nails. Those pants of hers leave little to the imagination, in comparison and –

Bellamy _doesn’t_ want to get there, but she took him to her chambers, once, after it was discovered that her suitor was also courting a farmer girl. It hadn’t been the clever thing to do, she was desperate and he was horny, but the images of that night still flash in front of his eyes as she leans above the counter to grab their bill.

The princess kicks him in the shin.

Bellamy chuckles, nervously.

“You’re paying,” she tells him in her most regal voice, and Bellamy rolls his eyes as he fishes for his wallet in the pocket of his trousers. Maya stares at him, lips pressed into a tight line not to laugh at his face, and it takes all of Bellamy’s self-control not to poke his tongue out at her.

Maya knows way too much for her own good.

“Do you know if there’s an hotel in town?” he asks Raven once she comes back and hands him the check – which, fine, he was going to pay anyway. Still, he’s been in this world long enough to know about feminism, and he is surprised this cursed version of Raven wouldn’t be all about that. Perhaps her contempt runs deeper than that.

“We’re actually doubling as bed and breakfast,” Raven replies as she takes the dollar bills from him. She rummages through the pockets of her work outfit to give him his change. “You can either walk all the way around the building or go through the backdoor, depending on how motivated you feel.”

Bellamy thanks her, and makes sure to leave a generous tip, in plain view on the table. He grabs his bag as well as the princess’s, making sure Maya is not struggling with her own bag, before all three of them head for the back of the dinner. They walk through a corridor, and it leads them to a little entrance hall, with a desk and keys aligned on the wall, but absolutely no one in sight. The princess rings the hotel bell, all proud smile and low chuckle – it’s hard not to smile, too, when she embraces the small pleasure so easily.

“How can I help you?” a familiar voice asks behind them.

The princess is fastest to turn around, and a tiny smile settles on her lips at the sight of – yes, indeed, Wick. Bellamy forces himself not to smirk at the curse bringing Raven and Wick together when it is well-known through castle whispers (and not-whispers, those two can be quite loud) that they cannot bear each other.

“We’d like two rooms, please,” the princess asks.

Wick nods as he goes to stand behind the desk and opens a heavy, dusty record book. “Sure thing, blondie. How many nights?”

The princess’s cheeks are a light shade of pink as she replies, “Just one for now but we’ll probably stay longer.”

Wick nods once more. “No problem. Not many visitors anyway. Names?”

“That’s Maya Vie,” Bellamy chimes in, with a nod toward her. “And Clarke and Bellamy Blake.”

Clarke kicks him in the shin, lightly, but Bellamy ignores her. Instead, he repeats her name in his mind. It probably is the first time he said it out loud and it tastes weird, foreign, on his tongue. It doesn’t sound wrong, just – it could take some getting used to it, he figures.

Wick scribbles in the record book, then fishes two sets of keys from under the desk and puts them on the counter. “Rooms 107 and 108. Breakfast is included, so just go to the diner tomorrow morning. If you need anything, just fetch me. Or yell after me, works too.”

Maya covers her snicker with a cough. Bellamy knows the feeling; Wick has always been – well, let’s just say he takes some getting used, too.

Once they have paid, they climb up the stairs and, after wishing a good night to Maya, lock themselves into the room. It’s nothing special, as far as hotel rooms go – there is a bed, and two bedside tables, and a table that doubles as a vanity, the door to the bathroom in a corner. They’ve seen better; they’ve seen much worse.

“Was Wick flirting with you?” Bellamy asks, because he has his priorities straight, as always.

The princess’s cheeks are most definitely pink. “Were you getting territorial over Wick flirting with me?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m going to take a shower.”

The cold water can only be good to him.

 

…

 

When he gets out of the bathroom, wearing his pyjamas and with his wet hair clinging to his forehead, the lights are already turned off. The princess is in bed and, were it not for how uneven her breathing is, he would believer her asleep. It says a lot that he can tell if she sleeps or not just by the way she breathes, but Bellamy stopped pretending she doesn’t affect him a long time ago.

He slips under the covers as quietly as possible, though, just in case she is seconds away from falling asleep. He wouldn’t like being the one to wake her up. But, as it turns out, she opens her eyes the moment his head is pressed under the pillows – her eyes are bright, even in the darkness, and a soft smile in on her lips. Her mood has improved since their trek through the woods, and for that Bellamy is glad. He doesn’t know how to act around her when she is upset, a force to reckon with.

“Thank you,” she tells him, voice as soft as her eyes. Her hand reaches for his above the covers, fingers squeezing a little, and it might be the most intimate they’ve been since this entire madness began. Bellamy can’t say he minds.

“The pleasure is mine, Your Highness,” he replies with no small amount of cockiness, because it’s easier that way.

She crunches up her nose, and he chuckles.

“Come on, you need sleep. You have a curse to break tomorrow.”

“ _We_ have a curse to break,” she corrects around a yawn, eyes not opening again.

His heart misses a beat, and Bellamy isn’t sure how he will survive not spending his life by her side once the curse is broken. Such a selfish thought, for such a selfish man.

 

…

 

Bellamy wakes up to the sun on his face and lips pressed against his neck. It takes a few moments for his brain to comprehend what is wrong with such a situation, but then he blinks away the light, eyebrows raising on their own accord as he takes in the sight the princess offers.

She is pressed against his side, one leg thrown above his, one hand clinging to his shirt as if her life depends of it. And, yes, there is the small matter of her face in the crook of his neck, lips to his skin, her deep breaths tickling a little.

He closes his eyes and forces himself to take a deep breath, shifting his hips so her leg is a little lower and she doesn’t feel how overwhelming this is for him. He wishes his body reactions away, but there is nothing much he can do when the princess he is more than halfway in love with is snuggling against him like there is no other place in the world she would rather be. It is, all things considered, more than a little overwhelming, both for his body and his mind.

_Don’t get used to it_ , he tells himself.

Another part of him laugh. _Too late_.

And, because he has no sense of self-preservation, Bellamy closes his eyes again, buries his nose in her hair. It’s not really soft, probably from dying it the previous day, but it smells like her and it is all that matters. She is warm, and soft, and snoring lightly against his neck – Bellamy falls back asleep in a matter of seconds, a content smile on his lips and dreams in his mind.

He isn’t certain how long it has been before she stirs against him, with a little yawn and an even smaller gasp – no doubt as surprised as he was to find them both is such an intimate position. Bellamy pretends to sleep, a little while longer, if only to spare her the awkwardness if she wishes to move away and pretend it never happens.

But, as always, she surprises him when he least expects it. With a shake of his shoulder, she says his name as to wake him. He yawns, too, and blinks away the morning light before his eyes settle on her. She’s a wonder in the morning, not that he didn’t already know that – her eyes a brighter blue, her cheeks rosy and her every feature softer than cotton.

It took his breath away, the first time he woke up to such a sight, and it takes his breath away right now, with how close to his face she is. Only a few inches away, and it would be so easy to just lean in and – no.

“Slept well?” he asks with a smirk. He’s a moron.

She rolls her eyes, so perhaps she’s coming to the same conclusion. Perhaps she’s disappointed. Perhaps he’s projecting.

“Let’s get ready for breakfast and exploring,” she tells him instead, and wets her lips with the tip of her tongue. Which. Not helping.

(How many more cold showers will he have to get through before this adventure is over? The answer, obviously, is too many.)

“Yes, let’s.”

She locks herself in the bathroom to take a quick shower and get ready for the day, and so Bellamy changes into his daily clothes too while he is at it. He sits back on the bed after that, wondering not for the first time how everything in his life led to such a moment. He was supposed to be a simple guard – his duty to his king and his duty to his family – and perhaps one day he would have married a kitchen girl, or the blacksmith’s daughter. Nothing in his life could have predicted that he would be thrown in the middle of a tale of such epic proportions, nothing in his life could have predicted – falling in love with the crown princess, with the Savior, was not in the cards for him. Still isn’t.

With a sigh, he ties his shoes before standing up – his joints cracking, his muscles aching. Exhaustion has settled deep within his bones when he wasn’t watching, and the only reason he is looking forward to breaking the curse is so he can spend the follow week just sleeping and otherwise worrying about nothing at all.

But for now he worries, Clarke joining him once she is done getting ready for the day. They find Maya at the booth where they sat the previous night, and have breakfast with her, careful in their hushed voices as they decide of things to do today.

It is quickly agreed that they will split up, if only to cover more ground. Not that the town is that big to begin with, but it will save them some time anyway, which never hurts. Bellamy sees the eager look in the princess’s eyes, especially after she asked Raven if she knew someone called Abigail. Raven directed her towards Arkadia Medical Center. Of course she would be eager to find her mother alive, and Bellamy will not lie in saying he doesn’t hope he will find his own mother along the way, too.

They go their separate ways outside of the Dropship, with promises to call the others in case of emergency and to meet again for lunch, in a few hours. Bellamy watches Clarke go, with no small amount of dread, before he walks down the street towards the police station.

He doesn’t exactly expect to find Captain Miller there, but is still disappointed anyway to find that the sheriff is a redheaded man he doesn’t recognized. One of Cage’s men, without a doubt – loyal to him even through the curse. Bellamy steers clear of the station, just in case, and explores the surrounding neighbour. He finds Monty, working as a florist and making doe-eyes at Nathan, now a handyman. It’s hard not to smirk knowingly at his best friend, mostly because the other man looks at him like he suddenly grew a second head. It’s hard, not find the sparkle of recognition in his friend’s eyes, being nothing but a mere stranger to him – to him, to his sister, everyone.

By the time he is done checking every shop and building around him, it is almost time for lunch, and he has nothing. As disappointing a thought is, he squares his shoulders as he makes his way back to the Dropship. Perhaps the girls will have had more luck than he did – it actually wouldn’t surprise him all that much.

Still, he sees neither of them when he enters the diner, and so makes a beeline for their room. He wants to check Clarke’s notebook – it could sparkle an idea, a clue, anything. It’s worth checking, if anything else.

Bellamy doesn’t make it to his bedroom, thought, turning around the corner only to bump into someone – and something. The pile of carefully folded sheets escapes her hands at the impact, and the woman is left gasping as the pieces of fabric fall on the ground. Bellamy is left gasping, too, for a whole different reason. He would recognize those black hair and blue eyes anywhere, those sharp cheekbones, that graceful neck. He swallows around the knowt in his throat at the sight of his mother in front of him.

“I’m so sorry,” he says in a hurry, falling to his knees to help her.

“That’s okay,” she replies, with an edge to her gentle voice. “I was heading to the laundry room anyway.”

Her smile is tight, her eyes unforgiving – Bellamy has seen many a man at the receiving end of such a glare, and he understands their uneasiness now, more than he ever could.

“I’m still sorry,” he says, and forces a smile on his lips. “I’m Bellamy, by the way.”

“I’m Aurora.” Her tone is clipped, but softens a little as she adds, “Isn’t Bellamy a female name?”

He laughs, because he can’t help it. “That’s what I always told my mother. Do you need help with that?”

She hesitates – his mother has always been too stubborn to ask for help, even when she was raising two bastard children with little to no money – but then gives him a nod. So Bellamy follows her downstairs, and spends the next few minutes loading the sheets in the washing machine. They work in silence, but it is hard to keep the smile off his face. His sister is well, his mother is well. In that moment, little else matters.

“Aren’t you supposed to have lunch with your ladies?”

He feels himself blushing against Aurora’s knowing gaze, as well as the underlying meaning to her words. She never forced him into an arranged, loveless marriage, even if he is well past the age of finding a wife – but she wasn’t born yesterday, either.

“None of them are _my_ lady, but yes. Indeed.”

She grins, a little. “If I were you mother, I’d be calling bullshit.”

His smile is sad, as he echoes, “If you were my mother.”

He nods at her, stiffly, before he leaves the laundry room and swallows down the uneasiness settling in his throat. He enters the diner through the front in a haze, and doesn’t notice the princess running towards him until she’s in his face, grinning and jumping up and down and otherwise looking like an overexcited Labrador puppy.

“He’s alive,” she tells him. “He’s _alive_!”

Bellamy blinks at her. “Who?”

“My _father_!” She laughs, an enthusiastic giggle. “I saw him at the hospital, he’s here. Bellamy, he’s _alive_.”

A grin blossoms on Bellamy’s lips, too, and Clarke throws herself at him with another happy laugh, arms around his neck. It takes him a second to respond, before his arms tightly wrap around her waist, pulling her to him in a hug. He smiles into her hair, her own mouth a grin against his neck. It is perfect, and so much more, and he doesn’t know how he is ever supposed to let go after this.

She does, though, just enough to press her forehead against his. Their breaths mingle, and he doesn’t just imagine the tension suddenly shifting between them, the heaviness of such a moment. A gasp catches in her throat as she leans away to blink up at him. He doesn’t just imagine the way she looks down at his mouth, then up against, the way her tongue darts out to wet her own lips.

“Bellamy,” she says softly, a whisper only for him to hear.

“No PDA in my bar,” a voice startles them both.

They take a step back, like teenage sweethearts getting caught in a dark alcove of the castle, and Raven has the smirk of the cat who ate the canary as she stares them down with no small amount of pride and smugness in her eyes. Bellamy smiles back, bitter and sarcastic.

“Are you going to kick us out?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t try me.”

Clarke slaps his chest so he bites down his smirk, and then drags him outside and down the street. Having lunch can wait, apparently, not that he blames her for it – they both believed for months that the King was dead, and he can only imagine how relieved she must feel, knowing she didn’t lose one of her parents in the end.

As it turns out, the King is in a coma, his breathing even and deep, his injuries wrapped in strikingly white bandages. His face is pale, too, IV lines hooked to his arm. But he’s alive. He’s _alive_. Bellamy feels like breathing again for the first time in months, his hand still hot with the crimson blood of the king. He looks down at Clarke next to him, and can only reach for her hand, fingers squeezing, as he offers her a smile. She beams back.

There is a newfound determination in her eyes, and in the ways she holds herself – head high, shoulders squared, looking quite the royal woman if not for her ratty shirt and jeans. She looks regal, unbreakable, as if he didn’t think he could fall even more in love with her. She does seem to like to prove him wrong.

“My mother is right over there,” she tells him in a whisper, pointing to the other side of the room with her finger.

Queen Abigail stands by the other side of a large window, probably in the doctors’ office, reading some kind of file she holds in her hand. Even from afar, Bellamy sees the scowl on her features. That, and the white coat she wears like an armour, make her even more commanding than her royal counterpart – not an easy task to achieve, with how ruthless the Queen was known to be in times of crisis.

He wonders if she knows – if this cursed woman knows it is her husband lying in bed, not dead but not quite alive either, if she looks longingly at him when nobody else is in the room. If he is but a stranger to her, yet another John Doe, yet another patient she takes care of. Bellamy wonders, and doesn’t need the answer.

“Let’s go back to the Dropship. Maya may have something.”

Clarke nods.

 

…

 

Maya has nothing.

The princess sags in her seat at the (lack of) news, with a pout and a sigh, her chestnut hair falling in front of her hair once more. She blows on the rebel strands with a murderous glare while Maya orders three burgers to a waitress who isn’t Raven this time. Bellamy doesn’t know her, probably a girl from the village – his social circle was always small to begin with, extending as far as the castle’s walls went.

“I saw Cage,” Maya goes on after a sip of he iced tea. “He’s the _mayor_.”

The princess makes a face, and Bellamy mirrors it. Of course he would put himself in a position of power, greedy bastard that he is. There is the question of him having his memories or not, one they can’t answer without blowing their cover. It’s a miracle none of his henchmen has noticed the newcomers yet, but it is only a matter of days. Or even hours, if they aren’t lucky or careful enough.

“We need an inside man.”

Both Clarke and Maya turn to stare at him without a word, eyes widening even so slightly. It is dangerous, and maybe crazy, but it’s the only way to get intel – real intel – on the situation. Without that, they may as well leave town, because something tells Bellamy they won’t find anything no matter how many days they spend wandering the streets of Arkadia.

“No way,” the princess replies, shaking her head.

“ _Yes_ way,” he replies stubbornly. “Cage knows you both. What are the chances of him ever seeing him, let alone remembering my face?”

But Clarke is still shaking her head, equally stubborn. “I said no. We need you here.”

He remembers the hotel room, two days ago, the desperation in her voice – I need you. He remembers an hour ago, her forehead pressed to his, the warmth of her bodies sipping through his. He remembers her snuggling to him at night, her looking at him in the crowd, her covered in blood and dirt and clinging to her sword like her life depends of it.

So he holds his chin high, and replies, “It’s the only way.”

“There is always another way.”

“Not this time, princess.”

Her eyes are rimmed with red as she looks away, takes a sip of her drink. She is silent, for long minutes, before she nods. Before the better part of her, the one who wants to save her people, first and foremost, wrests that nod from her.

“Hey,” he goes on, softer this time. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

When she looks back at him, the message in her eyes is as clear as can be.

_Already worrying_.

 

…

 

Bellamy doesn’t expect things to – well, to go so smoothly, really. He shows up at the town hall, wearing his cleanest shirt and his fakest smile, with a story about how he just arrived in town – something about turning over a new leaf and moving here from DC, the rural little town perfect for this new life of his – and wouldn’t you have a job for him? The woman behind the desk eats it up, blush high on her cheeks and eyelashes fluttering a little too much for her own good.

She tells him they are not offering much, but they are always in need of an assistant here and there. It’s only for coffee runs and making copies, but it’s more than nothing, she says. Bellamy accepts on the spot, of course.

The princess worries about it all night long, pacing the room as they make plans for the following day. Never has she looked more like her mother, with her back stiff and that hair colour. She could scare him, almost, if it didn’t make her so attractive.

(But then again…)

Bellamy shows up at the town hall the following morning, nine o’clock sharp, and the job is just as it was promised the previous day. He spends hours in the archives room, making copies of old files even he knows could easily be digitalized, and brings this or that person cups of coffee when asked. It’s boring, and useless, and he can’t find an opening to just sneak away and nose around.

Afternoon is spent in quite the same fashion, after a short lunch break. He learns the names of people even if he doesn’t need nor want to, and even learns one of two pieces of gossip he couldn’t care less about. All in all, Bellamy is quite happy to go back to the Dropship at the end of the day, falling on the bed with a groan and no, princess, nothing yet.

He can feel her growing more anxious with each passing day, not that he blames her. It is stressful to him, too, especially when she insists he sends her a text every hour to make sure he is still alive and well. He forgot it this morning, too busy with some meaningless task to notice it was past eleven already, and her shaky voice at the other end of the phone when she had called in a panic had almost been his undoing.

It goes this way for yet another three days before he sees an opening. Three days is more than enough to learn the pattern of the other employees – when they take their breaks, how long, whom with. Three days is more than enough to elaborate some kind of plan and, when the secretary and the woman from the archives leave the building for lunch, Bellamy takes his chance.

He picks at the locks – a skill he and Miller have mastered for years – before sneaking inside the archives room, unseen. He doesn’t turn on the lights, just in case. That’s why he bought a flashlight the previous day anyway – wouldn’t want to get caught for the rays of light slipping from under the door. So, with the lamp in hand and determination in his bones, he starts looking.

Every box that looks suspicious, every dodgy file, he tries to go through, as quickly as possible not to waste time. Lunch break is only an hour long, after all, he can only go so far. Copying the pages he finds suspect is a bad idea, so he takes pictures with his phone instead, hoping the quality will be good enough once they try to go through them again.

He opens a box labelled ‘accounting’ when the lights turn on.

Bellamy startles, and grips his flashlight not to let it fall. Uselessly, of course, since the man he saw a few days ago, the one who calls himself sheriff, is standing in the doorframe and staring at him. There is no way out, no escape plan, and Bellamy swallows as dread settles low in his stomach.

He closes his eyes, and sees the princess’s disappointed ones, even as he holds his hands in a peace offering. His body shivers in fear, despite his better wish, even more so when the sheriff grabs his wrist and puts him into handcuffs.

The metal bites into his skin, arms locked behind him at a wrong angle, but all Bellamy can think is _I screwed up, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I screw up_.

_I didn’t want to let you down_.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t notice?” the sheriff asks, venom laced in his ever word. “Did you think we were that stupid?”

Bellamy did, not that he would ever say that out loud, not if he wants to come out of it alive. Chances of it happening are slipping away by the minute, especially when the man shoves him into another room – Bellamy doesn’t miss the golden plate that states ‘mayor’s office’ on the door.

He has never faced Cage before, but the man is even uglier than he thought. He has the pale complexion of a nobleman who has never stepped outside of his royal chambers, and the glare of a snake. He looks feral, but also ridiculous – like a spoiled child who didn’t get enough presents on his birthday. It’s hard to take him seriously, with such thoughts in mind.

And perhaps it helps, too. Bellamy would rather face this monster with a smirk on his lips than fear in his eyes. He will not let himself be so easily impressed by a man who needs to curse an entire land to feel powerful – overcompensating, and all that.

“Something amusing?” Cage asks him, when the smirk turns into a chuckle.

“You,” Bellamy replies.

There is no point in lying, anyway, and Bellamy takes pleasure in the glare Cage offers him at his answer. Even if the man doesn’t have magical abilities – not as far as Bellamy’s knowledge goes, at least –, he still is a dangerous enemy to have, and wouldn’t put past killing Bellamy on the spot if he so wishes. So Bellamy reminds himself not to play with fire, least he burns himself. He is no use to Clarke if he’s dead.

“I’m curious,” Cage goes on. “Did you truly believe nobody would notice the three of you showing up despite the town being under a cloaking spell? Did you think you could walk around freely without facing the consequences?”

Bellamy frowns, a little, if only because he isn’t certain the questions are rhetorical or not. In doubt, he elects not to answer. It would rub Cage the wrong way, and gives him some time if the man decides to ramble about his diabolic masterplan. He does look like a villain in those spy movies he and Clarke would watch sometimes, after all.

“Look at you now,” Cage goes on, predictably. He steps into Bellamy’s personal space, as if it could make him more threatening. “The princess’s lapdog, ready to fulfil her every wish.”

Bellamy clenches his fists to ground himself. It would be so easy to just headbutt Cage and break his nose, but then again it wouldn’t help matter be. So, instead he clenches his fists and his teeth, tight enough to hurt.

“You’re a problem to me, boy. And I’m going to get rid of you.”

Cage steps back, and all Bellamy thinks is, _I’m going to die_. This is it. There is no going back at this point, he’s going to die, and Clarke will worry for hours before the truth will settle inside her. Will she mourn? Will she go on with her mission and break the curse no matter what?

Will she even care?

Cage opens ones of the drawers of his desk, but it isn’t a gun, or any kind of weapon, he grabs. Instead, it is a small, silvery needle – it shines in the light, deadly and threatening. Bellamy knows the tales, has listened to them, has told them to Octavia and other children. Bellamy knows how it goes.

“A sleeping curse?” he scoffs. “It won’t work if I don’t go willingly.”

He doesn’t question the hows or whys of Cage having the sleeping curse, even in the land without magic. It wouldn’t do any good questioning the logistics behind his demise anyway.

Cage grins at him, the smile finally bringing a shiver of fear down Bellamy’s spine. Perhaps because the threats are real, this time. Perhaps because he has finally accepted that Cage is not a fool but, indeed, a very dangerous man. There must be fear in his eyes, too, for Cage’s smile grows even bigger, prouder. Asshole.

“Oh, but you will. Because I will give you the perfect incentive.”

He plays with the needle, a little. How ironical would it be if he pricked himself? A desperate man can dream, after all. Still, Cage is careful never to touch the tip of the needle, coated in black magic. He simply toys with it, so close to danger without fearing it.

“How about that?” Cage adds, because apparently he loves the sound of his own voice. “You choose. Either you willingly go under the sleeping curse, or I kill everyone you love. Your mother, the Hatter, the princess. Oh, and – what’s her name? Sweet, darling Octavia.”

Bellamy struggles against his handcuffs, but the sheriff holds him back. He sees red, though, anger settling in his every muscle, every fibber – anger settling deep inside him, strong enough that he could kill everyone in this office, this building. Not Octavia. Never Octavia. He would rather die than let anything happen to her, would rather die than to let her be in danger.

His sister, his responsibility.

Cage clicks his tongue and shakes his head, disapproving. But there is a gleam in his eyes, one that tells Bellamy it was his plan all along and Bellamy simply jumps right into it. Predictable. Easy.

“Love is weakness. Didn’t the tales teach you anything?”

Cage nods to the sheriff, who releases Bellamy at least. It would be so easy to just throw himself at Cage and punch the living hell out of him, but it would serve no purpose. So instead, Bellamy rubs his wrists, and stares at the needle.

He must have faith. He must believe that Clarke will break the curse – she doesn’t need him for that, no matter how often she likes to claim otherwise. She will break the curse, and then Octavia will come to kiss him on the cheek and free him from this curse of his very own. Their bond is strong enough.

True love will prevail.

“You’re wrong,” he tells Cage, even as he snatches the needle from him. “Love is strength.”

He pricks himself.

There is only darkness.

 

…

 

Clarke falls to her knees, a scream of agony torn from her throat. She presses a hand to her heart, fingers wrapping around the fabric of her shirt. There is nothing but pain – white hot pain, inhibiting her senses and darkening her thoughts. She wants to scream, cry, die. Everything, just so it stops.

Please, make it stop.

“Clarke, are you okay?”

Maya is by her side in a matter of seconds. Her hands on Clarke’s shoulders, her cold fingers grounding her to reality, only a little. It’s hard to see, hear anything but the pain, but the way her heart seems to be breaking, shattering.

She gasps a sob. The tears roll down her cheeks.

“Bellamy,” she manages to say. “Bellamy is in danger.”

She passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Love is weakness" is, of course, a reference to Emma's interaction with Cora and not to Lexa. I find it fascinated how both shows used the same line with opposite views on the subject.


End file.
